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Eunice. 


Page 34. 








EUNICE 


OR 


AS YE WOULD 


SEP 


OF CO/v^. 

19 1894 i 






BY 


CLARA ELIZABETH WARD 

» V 


PHILADELPHIA 

AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY 
1420 Chestnut Street 


'Bl 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by the 
AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Climax, 7 

II. Home in Country and City, . . .21 

III. The Star of the Night-Shades, . . 35 

IV. Various Changes, 51 

/ 

V. Friends Meet, 67 

VI. Pastoral Work, 81 

VII. The Missionary Tea, ... -93 

VIII. Life at Milston, 1 1 1 

IX. Rivals, 122 

X. Vina, . 139 

XI. Bands of Love, 155 

XII. Plans and Purposes, . . . .170 

XIII. There Were Ninety and Nine, . . 183 


3 


4 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PACK 

XIV. Nuptials, 198 

XV. A Queer Society Man, . . . .210 

XVI. Contrasts, 224 

XVII. An Old Foe, 238 

XVIII. A New Home, 246 

XIX. The Flight South, .... 261 
XX. A Knight Must Keep His Vow, . *273 

XXL A Baby’s Part, 283 

XXII. An Interview, 298 

XXIII. The Final Struggle, . . . -307 

XXIV. Only Greater, 318 

XXV. Auf Wiedersehen, .... 330 


Dedication, 


TO ' 

MOTHER AND FATHER, 

THE ONE HERE, 

THE OTHER IN THE LAND OF LIGHT BEYOND, 
THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS 
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 




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. t 


EUNICE 


CHAPTER 1. 


A CLIMAX. 


How many a heart that bleeds in vain, 
How many a spirit racked with pain 
Cries out — and bitter in its moan — 

“ If I had known! If I had known! ” 


— M. A. Kidder, 


OME, help me move this trunk, will you.?” 



\j The voice was high-keyed, and excitedly ir- 
ritable. 

The woman addressed turned through the open 
doorway toward the speaker and said, with a sub- 
dued, though- husky accent : 

‘‘Why, Celia! you won’t need that — just for a 
few days, you know.” The words were accom- 
panied by a mute appeal in the coarse features of 
this middle-aged woman, who showed traces of hard 
suffering in her face. 

She was a wiry little person, thin and somewhat 
ungainly. A coarse, black serge gown hung loosely 
upon her stooping figure. Her head, with its cov- 
ering of smooth, black hair plainly combed, was un- 
usually large, and very long from brow to chin. 


7 


8 


EUNICK. 


while the latter protruded over her narrow chest. 
The large, straight mouth and prominent black eyes 
now looked repulsive in their pitiful wonder. 

With a nervous gesture she drew nearer to her 
daughter, but the action evidently irritated that 
young woman still more, for she replied : 

‘^Yes, I shall need it. I shall run the whole 
gamut. Don’t you suppose I know what I wish to 
do.^ I shall visit I guess, as much as I like.'’ 

‘‘But you are coming home again on Friday?” 

“Yes,” was the answer, in a derisive tone; 
“back to home and mother ! ” 

There was no response to these cruel words ; but 
with the submissive mien of an inferior the weary 
mother helped to drag the heavy trunk into her 
daughter’s bedroom, and there spread out upon the 
bed were the party gowns, into which had been 
stitched so many long-cherished hopes, mingled 
with pride, and alas ! of late, with bitter tears. 
There lay one, which she had made only a short 
while before, a soft, flowing silk. How willingly 
she had remained up late at night, although so 
weary that the needle dodged and shirked its task 
until the patient hand, aroused by thoughts of 
Celia’s vexation should the new dress not be fin- 
ished for the party, punished itself by requiring 
double speed ! How the fabrics seemed to taunt 
her from the bed, like creatures that had turned 
traitor to their maker ! They were replete with her 
hopes and sorrows, and thrilled her with vague ap- 
prehensions. 

“Why, Celia! you are not going to take these?” 
she asked, bewildered. 


A CI.IMAX. 


9 


^‘Indeed, I am! Now do go to bed; you will 
kill me yet. Oh, this stupid place ! It has nearly 
driven me wild.” The girl seemed, indeed, to ver- 
ify the last statement. Her hair, loosened for the 
night, was streaming down her back in dull, yellow 
profusion. Her tall figure swayed restlessly to and 
fro as she moved about the room, intent upon some 
task, while the pale, set features, and gleaming, gray 
eyes bespoke a temperament strained to the utmost 
limit of its ordinary endurance. 

A spoiled child do you think, or an inconsiderate 
mother upon whom the morning sunbeams will 
shine in reconciling benediction, ushering in con- 
tent ? Ah ! that every anxious, wakeful one, fever- 
ish with night-watching, might sing a matin song of 
hope. 

Many and many a time the faithful clock down- 
stairs sounded out its cheery notes upon the night 
stillness, as if to comfort the sleepless mother, who 
listened so intently to the swift movements on the 
other side of the partition. When they finally 
ceased, she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and 
awoke only when aroused by her younger daughter, 
Vina, who was clinging to her and whispering : 

Oh, mamma, get up quick 1 She’s up, and she 
kissed me good-bye when I woke up, and a man’s 
here taking out her trunk, and she’s got her things 
all on, and is going right off. Oh, dear I I’m afraid 
she’s going to do something awful, mamma.” The 
poor child’s imagination had been fed by the fore- 
bodings of the mother, who had poured out her 
fears to her little daughter, as to an adviser. 

Dazed and terrified she sprang out of bed, 


lO 


EUNICE. 


dressed, snatched up a shawl, flew into the kitchen, 
and through the sitting-room. The front door was 
open ; a carriage was standing before the house, 
and some one was helping Celia to enter it. The 
early morning mists blurred her vision. Soon all 
was indistinct, like the night’s horrors through 
which she had just passed. She shaded her eyes, 
and called out in her broken voice: ‘‘Celia! Celia! 
won’t you even say good-bye.^” Then she sank 
down, moaning in her grief, which shook her frame 
piteously, hopelessly. 

The worst might happen now. The evil por- 
tended was coming true. Why were sorrows heaped 
upon her head ? Why had she slept ? “ But per- 

haps,” she thought, starting up, “perhaps I can 
stop her even now.” No, she felt that was impos- 
sible. “ If I could only have a good-bye word or 
look,” she moaned. 

Close by her side knelt little Vina, with her arms 
about her neck. When the violent sobbing ceased, 
she whispered a word of cheer. 

“Perhaps, mamma, it is not what you think; 
maybe she will come home again.” 

And there was another Comforter, who never 
leaveth nor forsaketh even the lowest of those who 
call upon him, and the woman’s eyes were dried. 

After absently partaking of the frugal meal, 
which was interrupted by alternate fits of weeping 
and complaint, Mrs. Parkes said : 

“Get my bonnet, Vinie.” Then looking at her, 
she added, “Poor child! You go to bed till I come 
back, for you look almost sick.” Kissing her, she 
said between her sobs : “ Oh, if you should be 


A CUMAX. 


II 


taken from me ! I am going to the city. Maybe 
it will not do any good, but I cannot rest till I go. 
I will tell her all about it and maybe I will get 
word.” 

Just before starting, she added: “Probably I will 
be back by night. If I am not, you just go over 
to Mrs. Doty’s.” She passed out through the di- 
lapidated wicket gate and hurried down the dusty 
road toward Thrumville station, leaving behind her 
Vina, and her unpretentious home. 

If trouble ever seemed to be the portion of some 
people more than others in this world, it seemed so 
now to this woman. She could not remember when 
life had not been hard. In early childhood, her 
own mother having died, an unsympathetic step- 
mother had been chosen by the none too loving 
father. She was the oldest of several children in a 
family of three half-brothers, rough, sturdy boys, 
who looked down upon a girl, and had especial con- 
tempt for one so ugly and unattractive as was their 
half-sister. From this uncongenial life on the home 
farm she was sent out to work as “ hired girl ” ; but 
being unusually bright, and having made the best 
of her scanty opportunities, she secured a district 
school instead, where she taught during the fall and 
spring. This was her greatest good fortune in 
those days, for it was a remarkable thing that a 
school should be given to a girl. She did not, how- 
ever, depend upon teaching entirely ; as she liked to 
sew, she made dresses for the country women dur- 
ing the winter season. At seventeen she married 
a traveling agent. It was “love at first sight” on 
her part. He had loved at first sight many times 


EUNICK. 


IZ 

before, but never so truly. Her bright eyes and 
quick tongue had a fascination for him, notwith- 
standing her unattractive features. But he proved 
fickle-hearted, and would often leave her for months 
without warning, and what was worse, without 
support. When he returned, which he did two or 
three times, she received him gladly, for she loved 
him still. At last he went away and she afterward 
saw in a newspaper that he was dead. He had 
fallen from a wharf into the river. There was no 
doubt it was he, as was learned from his papers. 
A widow she was then, with two children and no 
money, but she retained her ambition. Let her 
show her smartness now,’' her half-brothers said, 
when she appealed to them. 

It was the first time she had asked a favor since 
starting out for herself. But though they clung to 
the old prejudice, they were not altogether heart- 
less. They each sent her a little money. It was 
enough to start her in business ; and she opened a 
shop, when Vina was yet a baby and Celia a pale 
little girl. 

Once she acknowledged to herself, ^^I almost 
wish Celia was a boy.” But Celia grew so much 
like her father in looks and manners that all the 
wife’s fondness, united with the mother-love, was 
bestowed upon the child. All her little whims were 
indulged, and her sayings were stored up and 
proudly rehearsed to neighborly ears. 

‘^Of course she is smart; she is just like her 
father, I tell them,” Mrs. Parkes once remarked to 
a friend. I tell them she is he to perfection. 
He wasn’t quite perfection, to be sure, but Celia — 


A CLIMAX. 


13 


well, you know the children are all I have, and I 
ought to be proud ; now don’t you think so ? ” 

But it was hard, sewing from early morning until 
late, and then barely succeeding in keeping ghostly 
want at a fixed distance, as it were, from her door. 
Both girls were growing pretty and bright. Celia 
already knew the ways of the city when they had 
been there scarcely a fortnight, and stood at the 
head of her class in the public school. But Celia 
had to be clothed. 

“ It makes no difference what I wear,” Mrs. 
Parkes had said, as she continued the above conver- 
sation, “if Celia can only dress respectably. Be- 
sides, she is real tasty, and I feel as if she ought to 
have nice things when she thinks so much of them. 
Not that Celia is vain; no, she is too smart and 
sensible for that — although most girls would be, in 
her place, I am sure.” 

“ Mamma,” Celia would often say, “ why don’t you 
make me a new dress ? I saw a lovely bargain to- 
day, and I should like to have it.” 

Then the fond mother, after demurring a good 
deal, would save money and contrive to give Celia 
the “ surprise ” which the child knew would come 
sooner or later ; for the wishes of her children were 
law in Mrs. Parkes’ eyes. But Vina, demure little 
kitten, seldom asked for a new doll or plaything. 
The old ones seemed sufficient for her and to claim 
all her affection. 

As these busy years now flashed across her 
memory, they seemed to this woman to be full of 
sweetness and comfort in contrast with the experi- 
ences of the past few months. 


14 


KUNICK. 


What have I done or left undone that this trou- 
ble must come upon me/’ she thought. ‘‘True, I 
have not lived as well as I might, perhaps. My 
example has not been of the best, although I went 
to church when I could, and tried to live right 
before the dear child. Didn’t I do the best I knew 
how ? I was cross sometimes, I know ; yes, I was 
cross ; but I was so tired — oh ! it does seem as if I 
did the best I knew.” Then why was it that she 
must drain the bitter dregs, just when it seemed 
that her cup was overflowing with blessing ? This 
thought seemed more unbearable than ever now, as 
she remembered how her father had regretted his 
treatment of his only daughter, and left her a little 
home in the country. The angry brothers had con- 
tested the will to no avail. Her reward had come 
at last, she thought. After giving her daughter the 
best schooling the city afforded, by dint of much 
labor and careful economy they were to be comfort- 
able at last. 

“I had planned to be so happy together, we 
three,” she sobbed. But then had come the worst 
misfortune of all. It had stolen in upon them 
unawares, and had brought them to the scene with 
which our story opened. 

The recollection of these things was surging 
through this woman’s brain as she walked the five 
miles to the station and talked, somewhat incoher- 
ently, with the station agent. 

“ Have you seen anything of a young girl with a 
big trunk ? Did she take the cars to the city ? Was 
she all alone ? or maybe ” 

“ I’ve seen a young girl — in fact two, with 


A CI.IMAX. 


15 


trunks, but I did not ask where they were going,” 
the station agent interrupted her, sarcastically ; but 
seeing her pitiful look of anxiety, he softened the 
gruffness of his tone a little, and asked : Madame, 
are you in trouble? Has your daughter gone 
insane ? ” 

Oh, sir ! insane ? insane ? ” she returned, be- 
wildered ; perhaps she is insane, perhaps she is. 
Yet ! Oh, my child ! my girl ! ” 

She broke down entirely, and the really kind- 
hearted agent came from behind the railing which 
divided the private office from the public waiting 
room in this small station, and led her to a bench, 
which was the only seat this place afforded. Fortu- 
nately, or unfortunately, there were no other occu- 
pants ; so this unusual tenderness on the part of 
the agent would not give surprise to any curious 
spectator. 

I haven’t seen any such girl, madame,” he said, 
kindly ; I’m sorry, but don't take on so. Maybe 
you’ll find her at home when you get there. 
Nobody’s been to the station to-day except two 
‘ drummers.’ ” 

His answer did not seem to satisfy her, and she 
felt in her pocket for money to buy her ticket. As 
she boarded the train, people looked wonderingly at 
the haggard features of the nervous little woman 
in faded black. But the many eyes soon turned 
again to their respective novels or papers, or closed 
listlessly, or gazed lazily out of the window. Only 
one, a woman, steadily watched our friend with 
sympathetic interest until she arrived at her station 
and was lost in the crowd. 


i6 


KUNICK. 


Is Miss Eunice in ? ’' asked a trembling voice, 
as a maid opened the door of a fine residence on 
one of the most aristocratic avenues in the city of 
Rochester. 

‘^No; Miss Eunice went out an hour ago, and 
Mrs. Olway won’t be back till late, for she’s gone 
to a mission meetin’,” returned the maid, looking 
inquiringly at the shabbily dressed woman on the 
steps. 

I will wait till she comes, because I must see 
her,” declared the stranger, stepping inside with the 
confidence of one who had been well received there 
before. 

Step this way then, mum,” said the girl, leading 
her back into a little room, which was apparently a 
private reading or waiting room. 

A piano was going in an adjoining apartment, 
on which some one was practising. At the farther 
end of the long, broad hall children’s voices were 
heard in play. A door or two closed with little 
noise. Then there were no other sounds but the 
clear tones of the piano, mingling with the happy, 
childish voices. 

Mrs. Parkes breathed more freely. She was sure 
to see Miss Eunice, and she knew that would bring 
some comfort. She did not mind waiting now. 
Had she not always waited ? 

Meanwhile Eunice Olway, or Miss Eunice, as 
she was sometimes called, was absent on a mission 
of love. It was very often, indeed, during these 
autumn months, that she might have been found on 
such an errand. A sick woman with a baby was 
just then the recipient of her attention, and on her 


A CIvIMAX. 


17 


way home, a little newsboy, a new member of her 
Sunday-school class was to be called upon. So it 
was quite late in the afternoon before she entered a 
homeward-bound street car. 

She made a picture well worth studying as she 
sat in the car, smiling now and then when she 
recognized a friend. Her dark blue dress set off to 
good advantage her fine figure ; but what her com- 
panions usually noticed was neither her dress nor 
her figure, but her face, which had an indescribable 
sweetness about it. There was no remarkable 
beauty of complexion, but those who stopped to 
analyze its charm said that it consisted in the wonder- 
ful harmony between the trustful, childlike eyes, and 
the sympathetic, womanly mouth. Her whole face 
spoke a universal language, the language of the 
soul. It was one of those faces which inspire to 
nobler thoughts ; which make the hard, old man 
think of his boyhood home, and the prayer at his 
mother’s knee. 

Do you wonder then that a soul burdened with 
sorrow should come to Eunice Olway for words of 
comfort ? Do you wonder that those who yearned 
for something better than they had ever known, 
should look with gladness at her face ? Do you 
wonder that our trouble-stricken friend in black 
should be waiting where we left her last ? Blessed 
are those in this world to whom the needy come 
with confidence and gladness ! They have a war- 
rant of true discipleship ; for did not the needy, 
suffering* ones come unto the very Christ ? 

Celia Parkes was always wise beyond her years. At 

B 


i8 


EUNICE. 


the head of her class in school, she easily discovered 
that it was natural for her to be the brightest of her 
companions. Her mother even had not anticipated 
such glowing accounts of her daughter’s ability as 
certain imprudent teachers occasionally poured into 
her ears, in the presence of the apparently indifferent 
paragon herself. So it cannot be wondered at that 
Celia should have grown up with the certainty of 
her own genius ever in mind ; and it soon became 
natural for her during those leisure hours which the 
easy prosecution of her school duties afforded her, 
to weave with her busy mind a web of future happi- 
ness, when all things would bend to her will ; when 
the stubborn difficulties of a life of poverty would 
all melt away under her own magic touch. To say 
that she was happy in the present would be untrue. 
Though her home was as comfortable as many of 
her schoolmates possessed, yet she looked with quiet 
envy upon those who were reared in luxury. She 
loved her mother and sister in a certain way ; but 
her ideal future was always apart from these home 
associations. Yet she could help her mother, and 
did in some ways, for as Mrs. Parkes sewed all day, 
Celia had to prepare the meals, and it was some- 
thing to have a daughter who could adapt herself to 
circumstances. 

In this way she had grown up, mastering her 
studies, and yawning with the ennui of it. Thus 
far, though life in the true sense had been all on 
the surface, intellectually she had dipped into 
philosophy, science, and religion. Yes, at seven- 
teen she felt that she had penetrated the depths of 
all these, and had discovered their shallowness. The 


A CUMAX. 


19 


full joys of living, and the sense of an unfathomable 
Goodness within and around her, which to Eunice 
Olway were the most real of her experiences, Celia 
never even conjectured. 

‘‘ What a happy girl you are. Miss Eunice ! Good- 
ness fairly overflows from you, and it is no trouble 
for you to be lovely,’' Celia had once said. It is 
just your nature; you could not help it if you 
tried.” And she persuaded herself that it was of 
course superficial, and would wear away in time. 

Eunice is not a genius,” she continued to herself. 

The common people seem contented enough ; not 
that Miss Eunice belongs to them, but she is not 
a genius. Yet she is very good company for a 
genius. In fact, I would like to have Eunice some- 
where near me always, for I never knew any one 
like her — always the same, and so ready to do any- 
thing for one. As to being like her myself, it is 
impossible ; besides, I don’t wish to be.” 

Such reflections as these were frequently in 
Celia’s mind when she had come to know Eunice 
as a very agreeable school companion. Miss Olway, 
on her part, had tried hard to understand genius. 
After a while she even pitied Celia ; but the pang 
of sorrow was accompanied by an inward smile of 
womanly experience at Celia’s open belief in her 
powers. 

She will find, poor girl, that the world is not 
quite within her compass,” Eunice thought. I 
hope she may find it out soon, and may it make her 
less self-confident. But she is so young ; yes, and 
so bright. It makes me tremble sometimes. Would 
that I might show her the danger. God help me to 


20 


EUNICE. 


help her/’ she prayed, ‘‘for she needs help, though 
she little thinks so.” 

The friendship between these two was a peculiar, 
though not a very intimate one ; but it was strong 
and unbroken, until on one side it was forgotten. 

There came a time when Celia discovered the 
means by which to dispel ennui. It began gradu- 
ally, but when the full revelation came to her, it 
took possession of her as nothing had ever done 
before. It became a passion, hidden at first to 
unobservant eyes, and the only object worth living 
for was its gratification. Then came separation 
between her and her mother. 

As Celia hurried away from home that early morn- 
ing without a look or word of farewell, she was still 
under the spell of her secret passion. So strangely 
had her genius developed that her poor mother felt 
it to be the great curse of their lives. 

It was this that was building up a wall of parti- 
tion between mother and daughter. Genius, yes, 
their evil genius, was thrusting the final dart of pain, 
and had run away, making mockery of her sufferings. 

But no premonitions of danger entered the mind 
of Celia, as she was on her way out into the great 
wide world, where she should be free — away from 
the past that galled her, and the protection and 
fondness of her mother, which she did not like. What 
did she care for the past or the future } The pres- 
ent would soon be all. 

And so we must let her go, while we pray with 
the mother that some time she may be found groping 
her way back again to the love she had spurned. 


CHAPTER II. 


HOME IN COUNTRY AND CITY. 

Around each pure domestic shrine 
Bright flowers of Eden bloom and twine, 

Our hearths are altars all. — Keble. 

If thou dost catch at times some gleam of the divineness 
of charity, of the glory of sacrifice, of the grandeur of faith, 
of the sky-piercing power of prayer, . . . believe in them, 
for they are the mountain principles and altar-piles of life. 
— Starr King, 

I T was late the next morning before Mrs. Parkes 
left the Olway mansion. But she went home 
with a lightened weight of care. There was even a 
glimmer of hope now and then upon her resigned 
features, as certain thoughts flashed across her 
mind. 

Poor little Vinie is waiting for me,” she thought. 
‘‘ I must hurry back to Vinie.” No, their home was 
not entirely forsaken. She had Vina, and they, 
thank God, had Eunice Olway — Eunice and God. 
Somehow Mrs. Parkes always felt that God must be 
very like Miss Olway ; but she had never felt this 
so much as now. Mrs. Parkes had one of those 
natures that can trust God with a childlike faith and 
deem him like a human sympathizer. Perhaps she 
needed some trouble to keep her constantly aware 
of the Great Comforter. But she also needed a 
human friend. Had she been entirely friendless 


21 


23 


KUNICK. 


probably she would have utterly despaired. It oc- 
curred to her now in a vague, mysterious way, that 
the loving Father had been watching over her all 
the time, although she had been as one benumbed 
and insensible to his watchcare. She grasped the 
truth only feebly as yet, but it stole over her as a 
feeling when she thought of what Eunice had said : 

God will care for you. God is caring for you. 
Only just try to lean on him more and more. If 
you have been to blame, remember your own tender 
love for Celia ; and then think that your love is 
nothing compared to his great love. He forgives 
you the moment you turn to him. If we would 
only rest in this love, that passes that of father and 
mother and all other love as well.” These words of 
Eunice still sounded in her ears like the strains of 
a sweet Christmas carol floating out over the hope- 
tinted dawn of a new morning. 

Eunice Olway herself had never been so conscious 
of the heavenly presence and divine love as when 
speaking and doing what her heart prompted for the 
comfort of this poor woman. She afterward tried 
to describe this exaltation to her mother when they 
were together one evening in their private sitting- 
room. 

To her this particular room had a character of its 
own which would cease to exist if ever dissociated 
from the mother who presided there. The warmly 
tinted walls, not too high ; the deeper shade of the 
curtains, draped apart in soft folds ; the still richer 
color of the carpet — all this harmonious blending of 
tints bespoke an artistic eye as well as the peace-loving 
heart of the mother -spirit that reigned there. In 


HOME IN COUNTRY AND CITY. 


23 


autumn and winter the effect was that of genial 
warmth, with the fireplace aglow in the corner and 
the large lamp beaming brightly from the centre- 
table. But the soul of the picture was gone unless 
the mother was sitting there, sewing leisurely while 
her happy eyes rested upon her daughter, who was 
sitting on a stool at her feet and reading aloud. 
Sometimes Eunice was sewing, while her mother read 
or talked in a low, melodious voice, as her hand might 
rest on her daughter’s brow. With pleasing variations, 
such was the picture that would have often greeted 
the eye of an observer from the open doorway which 
communicated with the hall. Thus it was that 
Garton, the son, sometimes found them, but not so 
frequently as of yore, for now he had both wife and 
children to make a pretty group-picture in another 
part of the house. 

Garton was Mrs. Olway’s only son, as Eunice was 
her only daughter. He was the elder, and resembled 
his father, who was now dead, as much as Eunice 
resembled her mother. Garton’s marriage had been 
a trial to them, because the bride, although very 
pleasant and exceedingly pretty, was too worldly in 
their eyes. She was rich, aristocratic, and fashion- 
able, and fond of her husband. She moreover liked 
her new relatives and willingly acceded to Garton’s 
wish to live in the same house with his mother and 
sister. The young wife had her fashionable friends 
and parties however, while the mother-in-law still 
lived simply and was faithful as ever to her Christian 
duties. But although there was no visible differ- 
ence, it soon grew to seem natural that the evenings 
of the two families should be spent apart. So it 


24 


EUNICE. 


happened that Garton, who often felt the same old 
longing of his boyhood days to lay his head in his 
mother’s lap and feel the caresses of her love, some- 
times escaped from the pleasant familiar talk of his 
own drawing-room and appeared in the open door- 
way, as has been said. He entered a few days after 
Mrs. Parkes’ visit, as Eunice was saying : 

‘‘ Oh, mamma, I cannot tell you what a revelation 
came to me while I was talking with her. Do you 
know, I think I can understand Paul’s vision better 
now ? ” 

She had been again rehearsing the sad story in 
which both were so interested. 

How, dear ? ” Mrs. Olway returned, with sup- 
pressed emotion, as she laid her hand upon the white 
forehead resting on her lap. 

I believe I have kicked against the goads long 
enough,” she answered, raising her head and lifting 
her liquid, gray eyes to the brown ones above her. 

Well ? ” caressing the uplifted chin. 

When I was talking to her, it all grew clear to 
me how I had only half seen the truth before ; and 
oh ! mother dear, I did not try to see it before, for 
fear the sight would be more than I could bear. 
Do not think that I am speaking strangely. I was 
blind, but now I see, and life can never be the same 
any more ! ” She buried her face in her mother’s 
lap and gave vent to tears of mingled joy and son 
row. 

After a few moments of silence, she lifted her 
face again and continued : I see myself now, 

mamma. But I have been so blind before. I would 
not see it, but now it is glorious,’' she whispered, as 


HOME IN COUNTRY AND CITY. 


25 


she covered her mother’s hand with kisses, and her 
eyes beamed with a new radiance. ‘‘He wants me 
too, to be a light to the Gentiles. He wants me 
just to shine for him, for he said I have given you 
this wonderful light, child, just for you to let it shine 
on others ; don’t you see ? ” 

Her mother caught something of her exaltation, 
and replied : “ I think so, dear, but you have always 
shone. You have given everything to him always, 
you know.” 

“ No, mamma. This is different ; I have not 
given all, as he gives to me. I did not give it to 
them. Celia had almost everything else, but I had 
this. I did not give it as he expected me to do. 
Nobody has given it to them ; and now they have 
so little that will be in accord with his love.” She 
hid her face again in her mother’s lap. 

“ My child ! ” the mother whispered. Then after 
a moment, she added, as if to herself : “We have 
freely received. Have w^e as freely given ? ” 

“ Oh, mother ! ” Eunice exclaimed, j oyfully. “ Y ou 
too, see now. It all came to me like a flash when 
that poor woman was sobbing and saying how she 
had hoped God would care for them ; she had hoped 
Celia would believe in God ; she knew Celia believed 
in me. Couldn’t I someway be like God to Celia, 
because I was almost already, she said, for Celia 
always spoke of me in that way. Oh, mamma 
dear, life is all new to me now. I never dreamed it 
could be so glorious ! ” 

“ Nor so serious — so responsible too, dear.” 
Presently Eunice murmured, in a faint whisper : 

Mamma dear, what if he should take me away 


26 


EUNICE. 


from you and put me right in with those blind ones ; 
what if he should ask me to pour out all my life at 
the feet of these poor, naked ones, whom Christ 
died to save ? '' 

Mrs. Olway hesitated, and a quiver passed over 
her face ; but she returned, calmly : Why do you 
ask, dear ? ” 

Mamma, I must go ! I must go ; some time — 
but how can I leave you } ” The big tears began to 
steal down her cheeks again. 

He will not take you from me yet. I could not 
let you go,” the mother said, fervently. ‘‘Yet,” 
she added, looking searchingly at Eunice’s face, 
“ if it were his will, would I dare say no ” 

Then the girl exclaimed: “No, no; it could 
not be. I simply could not go. Yet he left all ! ” 
Presently she looked up with a new thought trem- 
bling on her lips. “ I do not need to go — yet, — 
perhaps never. There are those right near, you 
know.” 

“ Yes,” the mother whispered. 

They gave each other a long, expressive look, 
then bowed their heads thoughtfully in silent 
prayer. 

It was winter. Fully two months had passed 
since the confidential talk between Eunice and her 
mother. A blustering day and a picturesque night. 
The full moon, shining with benign countenance 
between the dark, scudding clouds, while the winds 
roared through the naked branches, allowed a sudden 
gloom to be cast over the snow-covered earth ; this 
was followed by as sudden a radiance, softly bril- 


HOME IN COUNTRY AND CITY. 


27 


liant, which threw into relief the marble whiteness 
of the snowy surface, in contrast with the dark out- 
line of tree-trunks and branches, against the ever- 
varying sky. 

Do come to bed, Vinie ; you will take your 
death of cold standing by that window at this time 
of night. The wind blows frightfully. Vinie, you 
will freeze, dear. Come.'’ 

‘‘Yes, in a minute, mamma; but you ought to 
look out once. The old year’s having such a time 
of it, as if he was afraid nobody would care about 
his dying unless he did it himself. But the moon’s 
as nice and quiet — I believe the moon’s taking care 
of the baby New Year.” 

“ What an imagination you have, child ; but I do 
not like ” 

“ Oh, here I am, mamma ! ” exclaimed the child, 
darting into bed, and cuddling down close to her 
mother. 

“ Child, how your teeth chatter ; and you are 
shivering. Now, Vinie, what made you ? ” 

“’Sh!” answered the child, putting her small 
hand over the reproving mouth. “ Let us go to 
sleep. I didn’t suppose you would wake up, and 
I awfully wanted to look out, because I had been 
dreaming.” 

“ Well, well ; go to sleep, if you can, then.” 

Toward morning the wind went down and the 
weather moderated somewhat. When Vina arose 
there was a gentle snow storm outside. She thought 
it looked as if a huge basket of fresh down-feathers 
was being playfully emptied by some mischievous 
brownies of the upper regions. The thought pleased 


28 


EUNICE. 


her, for she smiled. Why shouldn’t the brownies 
frolic with the baby New Year ! she murmured. 

Mamma has breakfast most ready, probably. I 
hear her walking around on the kitchen floor,” she 
continued, as she hurriedly dressed. Then running 
to the door, she called: ‘‘Wish you a happy New 
Year, mamma ! ” 

“Oh, Vinie ! You dear child!” returned the 
mother, pausing in her work. “ Well, I thought it 

never could be happy any more, when Celia ” 

(she was interrupted by a hug and a kiss) “but 

since I know she is alive, and I have you ” The 

tears began to fall. 

“ Now, mamma ; crying on the New Year’s Day I 
Don’t you remember what Miss Eunice said in that 
letter ? ” 

“Yes; that is a great comfort to me. No; I 
won’t cry any more to-day,” she declared, wiping 
her eyes, and laughing a little, at which change Vina 
skipped about the room and clapped her slender 
hands. 

“ Hurry and fix your hair now, because breakfast 
is almost ready, and Mrs. Doty will be coming 
before long for Jennie’s cloak. It is all done, and 
real pretty, isn’t it She said Jennie would want 
it to go sleigh-riding to-day. I wish she would take 
you riding with her. She might.” 

“ Maybe she’s going with a man, mamma. James 
Blake took her home from church one night, because 
I saw him.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but James Blake is too nice for her, 
in my opinion — but, dear me, it isn’t my business. 
Anyway, James is a nice boy. Eunice thought he 


HOME IN COUNTRY AND CITY. 2g 

would be such a help in the Sunday-school if she 
came.” 

Oh, I hope she’ll come, I hope she’ll come,” 
repeated Vina, in her gentle sing-song. 

The breakfast dishes were hardly arranged in the 
pan ready to be washed when there came a rap at the 
door, and a woman’s voice announced, It’s me.” 

‘‘ Come in, Mrs. Doty.” 

“Wish you a happy New Year,” chimed in Vina, 
before the door was fairly closed again. 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Doty; “have 
you just got through breakfast ? ” letting herself 
down carefully upon a chair. (Mrs. Doty weighed 
a hundred and eighty pounds and was short.) Then 
she gave vent to a hearty chuckle. “ I didn’t expect 
to see you so chirp-like here this morning. I am 
right down glad to see you picking up. There is 
nothing like a cheerful disposition, I tell Pete. 
Some folks would joke if they knew they would 
be struck by lightning the next minute — not as I 
mean that there are many jokes here, you know.” 

“ No, Mrs. Doty, I guess there are not. Life 
is not much of a joke for us. I was so sorrowful 
this morning,” Mrs. Parkes said, wincing a little ; 
“but we are keeping up.” 

“ Of course, I know you have an awful hard time , 
of it, and I said just now what I did not intend to ; 
but it is just my way. Pete says, ‘Ma, if you 
wanted to say a fellow was handsome, you would 
say he was uncommon ugly.’ Her frame shook 
with partly suppressed laughter, as she began to 
open her basket, which she had held all of the time. 

“ Here 1 I brought you over a young chicken for 


30 


:^unice:. 


dinner. Thought perhaps you didn’t have chicken 
every day/’ she explained, holding it out for inspec- 
tion. 

Oh, Mrs. Doty ! It is very good of you. I 
wanted to buy one, but I could not afford it. You 
have been a friend to us indeed, Mrs. Doty, and we 
appreciate it.” 

‘^That is all right, Mrs. Parkes. You have none 
too many friends. Is Jennie’s cloak done yet ? She 
would be so disappointed if it wasn’t.” 

Yes ; and I hope she will like it. We think it’s 
very pretty,” Mrs. Parkes replied, bringing the gar- 
ment for inspection. 

Here is the money. I guess it is all right } ” 

Yes ; must you go right away ? ” 

<‘0h, yes; I must get back, so that Jennie can 
try it on, and admire it before she goes.” 

How nice it will be to go sleighing to-day,” re- 
marked Vina ; it has stopped snowing now, and 
the sun shines lovely.” 

Yes ; ” said Mrs. Doty, as she moved toward the 
door ; Ned Brown asked her to go over to Thrum- 
ville to-day. Well, good morning to you.” 

Come again, Mrs. Doty,” Mrs. Parkes called out 
from the door. 

Oh, mamma, I am so glad it isn’t James Blake,” 
declared Vina, as soon as the door was shut. She 
fairly danced. Wasn’t she good to bring us a 
chicken ; but she’s always good. When she said 
that about jokes, you know, I thought I should 
laugh right out ; but you looked so sorrowful, and I 

knew you ” she stopped short. Oh, I hope 

Eunice will come. I hope Miss Eunice will come,” 


HOME IN COUNTRY AND CITY. 3I 

she continued; and the saddened features of her 
mother brightened perceptibly. 

The thought of Miss Olway started a train of 
hopeful expectation. Their darkened world might 
sometime come straight. The yawning blank might 
at last be banished. There was at least a hope in 
the presence of Eunice. 

While these two were thinking of Eunice Olway, 
she herself was thinking of them, and of her plan 
for their happiness. There never had been better 
sleighing in the city since Eunice could remember, 
and the day was simply perfect ; neither too cold 
for comfort, nor too warm to endanger the prospect 
of sleighing. The children were radiant. Little 
Dora was a picture of delight, and Hollister, too 
much of a boy to be quiet long, was clapping his 
chubby hands as he slid along the floor, crying, 
Det up, pony ! ” in imitation of a sleigh-ride which 
he was clamorous to have, according to promise. 

Auntie Oonie, Dody and me’s doin’ to wide wif 
ou, wight away, ain’t we ? ” Hollister demanded, 
clutching at Eunice’s skirts, and kicking up his joy- 
ous little heels alternately, while he looked up into 
her face with confident inquiry. 

^‘Yes, dear, pretty soon; but you must be pa- 
tient, you know, just like a happy-new-year boy,” she 
answered, giving him a hug, which he returned with 
such warmth, that he was fairly lifted off his feet 
by the demonstration. 

Then Dora having come up for her share, there 
was more laughter, and indeed so much that it 
brought Mrs. Garton Olway into the room. 

Why, children, what a commotion ! Is this my 


3 ^ 


EUNICB. 


nice-mannered little boy and Dora? Well, I did 
not suppose Aunt Eunice would teach you to waltz, 
but you do it to perfection.” This was accom- 
panied by a pleasant laugh, and then she continued : 

What will you ever do with such boisterous children, 
Eunice ? See here, dears, unless you are good ” 

We are dood, we are dood,” interrupted Hollis- 
ter. Oh, mamma, we do ponying wi’ Auntie 
Oonie s-o ! ” and he drew back upon imaginary 
lines, and whizzed off across the room. 

Holly and I are going to have fun, aren’t we. 
Auntie Eunice ? ” asked Dora, who always spoke 
with a quaint preciseness, and what was more re- 
markable, with scarcely a grammatical error. Cor- 
rect speech seemed innate in the child. Then with 
a whirl and a thrill of glee, she ran away. 

What happy creatures children are,” said their 
mother, in her mild treble. ‘‘ How do you get along 
with them so beautifully — I mean everybody’s 
children. Before I was married I never could bear 
to have them around. Of course I did not really 
dislike them, but they were a great deal of trouble. 
Why it is, I do not know, but you seem to love all 
children, Eunice, even rag-a-muffins ; and the more 
dirty and mischievous they are, the better you ap- 
pear to like them, I believe. I guess, Eunice, on 
the whole you are a kind of a saint, as Mr. White 
calls you.” The speaker’s face smiled all over now, 
wreathing itself with dimples in cheek and chin, 
and setting off bewitchingly the sparkling brown 
eyes and delicate features. She was very pretty as 
she stood there, small in stature, with fair skin, 
waving brown hair, and eyelashes to match. 


HOME IN COUNTRY AND CITY. 


33 


^^Ah, yes, Lena, picture me as St. Eunice, the 
patroness of rag-a-muffins. But these are the dear- 
est rag-a-muffins I have,’' she added, catching the 
two young teamsters on their way to the window, 
as the sleigh bells began to jingle outside. 

'‘^Huwah! det my fings on twick ! Oh, huhwy 
up, please ! ” exclaimed Hollister, entreatingly. 

Come, let’s go to grandma’s room. Holly ! 
She’ll fix us up nice and quick,” said Dora. And 
off they ran to be made ready for their ride. 

‘‘ So you are really going to see that queer-look- 
ing old woman in black that used to come here so 
much, are you ? ” asked Lena, when the room was 
quiet. She did look as if she had lost her last 
friend. But, really, I think it is wonderfully good 
of you to do so much for her; but then it is just 
like you. I think you do too much for people, 
though, Eunice. You just wear yourself out, and 
I think that is not right. * Self preservation is the 
first law of nature.’ You see I do remember one 
quotation.” She was talking as she went on with 
her embroidery and while Eunice was wrapping 
some packages which were to be taken on the trip 
to Milston. Presently Lena added, looking up 
brightly: ‘‘I won’t complain, Eunice, as you are 
going to give the children a pleasure trip and relieve 
me, as I shall need all my time to devote to New 
Year’s calls to-day. There goes the bell now,” and 
so saying, she arose and left the room to add the 
finishing touches to her toilet. 

‘^So Lena does think it is good of me to do 
things for people,” thought Eunice. If she only 
knew how I love to do it ; if she only knew. Her 
C 


34 


EUNICE. 


thoughts were here interrupted by the entrance of 
the children, who were bringing in grandma in tri- 
umph. 

We’re all ready, Auntie Eunice,” declared Dora, 
proudly. 

Whoa ! Dive us a det on twick ! ” Hollis shouted 
through the window at Tom, who had just driven 
up. 

Then grandma laughed, and Aunt Eunice laughed 
at the funny little remark. Presently young Mrs. 
Olway came down for a minute in order to kiss her 
darlings good-bye. Mr. Olway just now entered 
with a cool breeze as the doors flew open, and it 
was not long before the travelers, with paper bags 
and mysterious bundles were warmly tucked in the 
sleigh. The bells jingled merrily, a few more words 
were spoken and they were off, bounding past 
many a slower team, to the great delight of the 
three on the back seat. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE STAR OF THE “NIGHT-SHADES.” 

O Love Divine ! — whose constant beam 
Shines on the eyes that will not see, 

And waits to bless us, while we dream. 

Thou leavest us because we turn from th.ee. 

— G, Whittier. 

I T was just before midnight — the first midnight 
after New Year’s eve. The city streets were 
quiet. Only now and then the jingle of bells could 
be heard approaching, and then dying away on the 
clear night air. The echo of footsteps sounded 
only occasionally, as a policeman moved up and 
down his beat, or a belated citizen hurried home to 
his warm fireside. The calm face of the heavens 
kept silent guard over tenement and mansion, alike 
watchful of the weary sleeper and the excited night- 
reveler. The starry beams of the full moon were 
rudely excluded from many an interior, where 
thoughts of a kindly heaven were farthest from the 
occupants. Yet from such interiors bars cannot 
entirely shut out the friendly interest of the human 
heart, nor the observant eyes of the skilled de- 
tective. 

While such were on their wonted quest, an inter- 
esting comedy, or rather tragedy, was enacting within 
closed walls. ‘^The Night-shades” had received 
its name from a wit, and the ‘‘Star of the Night- 

35 


36 


EUNICE. 


shades*’ was at present the chief attraction. To 
describe this place is difficult. It was one of those 
places of gas-light glare and deadly atmosphere, 
surcharged with a subtle charm, so enchanting to 
the reckless pleasure-seeker; it was, in short,, the 
rendezvous of unseemly mirth and gayety. 

To-night the new idol of ^^The Night-shades” 
held full sway. She was a young woman, scarcely 
out of her teens ; and, as she stood in the center 
of the room, with her tall, slight figure arrayed in 
evening dress, and her fair hair arranged to show 
its abundance, she appeared to the best advantage. 
She was reciting and gesturing at the same time, 
with such esprit and confident grace as might be 
the result of long and continued training. From 
the words it seemed to be partly an original imper- 
sonation which she had prepared, and partly hn- 
promptu^ the audience or her excited state of 
mind, inspired. 

** Begone ! Thou culprit base, 

Think not to win my heart by paltry means. 

Pour out your sparkling wine, cast in your pearls, 

I will have pearls to drink, to drink, — 

Pearls and the ruby wine ! ’ ’ 

She impersonated the above with Cleopatra-like 
attitude, and a highly tragic air. Then, suddenly 
assuming the character of the culprit, she implored : 

*‘Oh, most beauteous wine-sipper, 

Pray let me be your wine-dipper,” 

at which a wild burst of applause broke forth, while 
the glasses clinked, as all drank the toast, ‘^Cleo- 
patra of the Night-shades.” 


THE STAR OF THE NIGHT-SHADES. 37 


Just at this moment two tall, dark figures were 
moving carefully along the walk, and finally turned 
down the cross-street which passed ^^The Night- 
shades resort. One of the men was of medium 
height, and his lithe form was hidden by a long 
overcoat, slouching fur cap, and high collar, from 
the front of which protruded a long, frosted black 
beard. His eyebrows were shaggy, and his eyes 
alert. His companion was taller and larger ; and, 
in contrast to his companion, had only a mustache. 
They talked softly to each other and kept constant 
watch, as if searching for some particular place. 

Finally one said : There are a good many of 
them. I have seen enough in my day. I could 
tell you a few things if I chose.” 

Yes ; I dare say you see more of this side than 
the other,” returned his companion of the mustache. 

’Tis well to know both sides, at least to know that 
both exist. I think I shall work better afterward, 
certainly more intelligently.” 

** We’re almost there know. I know a door 
through which we can enter by a night-key. I 
know the place pretty well, you see. I shall 
manage and get you in, or at least, give you a 
sight. But be sure you remember my signs,” 
whispered the man with the beard. 

The revelry was at its height when the two men 
passed along the dark passageway into which the 
night-key had admitted them. 

The proprietor of this establishment knows 
there is no charm against my night-key,” murmured 
the leader. But he is off his guard to-night.” 

Now that they were inside the building, the par- 


38 


EUNICE. 


titions served as a thin barrier to the sounds of 
revelry in the inner apartment. 

I think I have my man/' continued the bearded 
man ; yet the voice may deceive me. It is an 
ordinary one, having no individual intonations, but 
just like a hundred others.” 

After adjusting his dark-lantern, he led the way 
to the end of the hall, where appeared a narrow 
door. He softly turned the handle. It was locked. 
The noise within continued, and soon his key had 
accomplished its purpose. As he pushed the door 
open a little, some drapery was disclosed. Then, 
turning toward his companion, he gave him the sign 
to come nearer. Their overshoes made no noise. 
Amid the general confusion within no one was dis- 
posed to be suspicious, and a slight change in the 
folds of a drapery was not likely to be observed. 

One sweeping glance, which took in the whole 
situation, was sufficient to satisfy the first restless 
pair of eyes ; and one full view of the central figure 
in the room, one look at that old-young face, was 
enough to impress the second pair of eyes with a 
sight which their owner never forgot, nor ceased to 
recall without a shudder. As these two men made 
their retreat into the starlight, the detective — for 
the bearded man was of that class — said : 

^‘Mistaken! but wasn’t that a sight for you 
That girl draws crowds just now, and they say she 
is a prodigy. Pity, isn’t it ? but many a bright one 
goes to ruin.” 

After a pause, the other returned : What an 
expression ! I shall never forget it. I tell you, 
Joe, we ought to be better men for that sight.” 


THE STAR OK THE NIGHT-SHADES. 39 


‘‘Oh, you are not hardened yet, my man. A 
detective has to become hardened.’' 

“ God forbid ! ” 

“ I admit it sounds cruel to say so, but you can 
do nothing with them ; at least, not much. They 
fall back again.” 

“ ‘ I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to 
repentance,’ ” quoted the younger man, reverently. 

“True; you are a minister, and I suppose it is 
your place not to give them up. I tell you I ad- 
mire those who don’t give them up ; and there are 
some. In my rounds, I will admit I have seen 
some, and I call them Christians, who plead with 
this sort right in these places, and sometimes they 
succeed, but usually not. Yet, after all, they are 
true blue, and a fellow can’t help being touched.” 

Just before they parted, the younger man put his 
hand on the other’s shoulder, and said: “Joe, I am 
glad you let me go with you. I trust it has made 
me a better man. I am sure I understand my mis- 
sion now as I never did before. Good-night.” 

Ernest Radcliffe did not sleep much that morn- 
ing. He had been out with his friend, the detec- 
tive, several times during the past few weeks, as he 
wished to get a glimpse beneath the life of the city, 
where evil brooded, in order that he might know 
better how to cope with the forces of darkness when 
he went out to the realities of his calling. But no 
scene had impressed him as this one had. The 
face of that young girl, evidently very young in 
years, had about it an appearance of evil experience 
that seemed to him a desecration of girlhood. Its 
mockery of brilliant gayety, amid such surround- 


40 


EUNICE. 


ings, was calculated to make a deep impression upon 
one whose reverence for womanhood was innate, 
and whose contact with the ‘‘gentler sex” had been 
such as to inspire him with high aims. He was 
the pride and hope of a noble mother, who was an 
example of womanly excellence. Moreover, he had 
been called to the ministry when very young, and 
had been in constant preparation ever since, from 
the academy to the college, and later to the theo- 
logical seminary. 

He was now ready to enter upon active service in 
the world, and had already accepted a small charge. 
It had seemed a good field, because quite a barren and 
uncultivated place. The chief desire of this young 
minister was that the wilderness might blossom as 
the rose. He did not want an easy or lucrative 
place. He had desired to go immediately into mis- 
sion work upon the completion of his studies, either 
at home or abroad ; but there had been no distinct 
call, and he always waited for a clear direction. On 
the contrary, the call to his accepted charge had 
been unmistakable. 

“ I shall sometime work in the city yet ; among 
just such classes too, I believe, notwithstanding 
what the professors say,” Ernest Radcliffe thought, 
as he lay upon his bed. “What do they know 
about the needs of the city ; personally I mean ? 
Ah ! but don’t boast yourself. How long is it since 
you realized what is going on even in Brooklyn ? 
Theory is easy ; but discussing the nature of evil, 
or the doctrine of original sin, does not make one 
feel the sinfulness of sin, nor the horrors of its con- 
sequences. If we resorted to the study of these 


THE STAR OF THE NIGHT-SHADES. 41 

object lessons more, and theory less, I believe there 
would be more vital interest in the theology that 
deals with these, and kindred themes.” 

With thoughts like these, his active mind was 
easily occupied until just before dawn, when he lost 
consciousness in a sense of the Heavenly Father’s 
love, and the final triumph of good. 

That was the happiest time that Mrs. Parkes and 
Vina enjoyed for a good while, when the two-seated 
sleigh jingled before the door, and from it stepped the 
two children and Miss Olway, all burdened with pack- 
ages, even to little Hollis, who shouted out, ^‘’Appy 
Noo ’ear!” evidently by previous request, for he 
soon added : My finners is awful cold ; I ’ant to 
’arm ’em twick.” 

After Miss Olway had told the driver at what 
time to call for them again, they all entered the 
house. Mrs. Parkes was so overjoyed that her eyes 
filled with tears as she turned to Eunice, who said, 
cheerily : 

See what the children have brought you I They 
were wonderfully delighted to come, and I knew 
you and Vina too would like to see them.” 

‘‘Oh, indeed we are glad to see them, Miss 
Eunice; indeed we are,” exclaimed Mrs. Parkes, 
with grateful fervor. 

Meanwhile Vina had first hugged the children, 
and then listened to a prattling explanation from 
Dora, to the effect that it had been great fun riding 
over to Milston. “Holly nearly froze himself,” she 
declared, adding : “ He’s a baby yet, you know ; but 
I didn’t get cold, neither did Aunt Eunice.” 


42 


EUNICE. 


<‘No, I ain’t a baby, Dody; oil’s naughty! Ou’s 
a baby and a dirl! I’s a bid boy,” Hollis ex- 
claimed, resentfully, with a wry face, as he ran over 
to Miss Olway. I ain’t a baby, is I, Auntie 
Oonie?” 

^‘No, dear, you are both little jewels, but you 
must not quarrel, because that is not lovely,” Eunice 
answered, between other remarks. 

When they had examined the packages, Mrs. 
Parkes and Vina were jubilant. 

‘‘It was so thoughtful of you! You’ve been 

such a friend to us ever since ” but here Mrs. 

Parkes broke down again. 

“Now, mamma,” said Vina, reproachfully, “cry- 
ing when Miss Eunice is here ! ” 

“ I know, but somehow I cannot help it. It is . 
not because I am so sorrowful,” she whispered in 
her broken treble ; “ Miss Eunice knows.” 

And then Miss Olway put her arms around the 
poor woman, and stroked her head soothingly, 
while the children looked on in silent wonder, until 
Hollis, to suit the general strangeness of the occa- 
sion remarked, as he rubbed his eyes sympatheti- 
cally : 

“ I put my eyes out o’ joint toming. Dey slipped 
so bad on the snow,” and he squinted them in order 
to illustrate the way in which the experience had 
affected him. 

This was like magic. They all laughed heartily 
at this queer remark, for he often indulged in similar 
odd expressions to the amusement of the older 
folks. Hollis always considered the laughter com- 
plimentary, and heartily joined in the merriment, but 


THE STAR OF THE NIGHT-SHADES. 43 


Dora was usually embarrassed, and if the fun was 
carried too far, it was sure to wound her feelings. 

Seeing what an agreeable change had been 
wrought in the present situation, Dora looked upon 
her brother as quite a hero. 

Vina was always a favorite with children. She 
gave herself up to their pleasure with simple devo- 
tion ; indeed, in years she was but a mere child 
herself, although older people were apt to treat her 
as if mature. 

The three children had a most delightful frolic, 
while Miss Olway helped Mrs. Parkes arrange some 
of the good things on the table, for the latter in- 
sisted upon preparing at least a lunch, although all 
had been to dinner. Miss Olway talked during 
the time comfortingly, in answer to questions about 
Celia, and deciding what would become of the 
mother and Vina. 

I have a plan to propose by-and-by, Mrs. Parkes, 
in regard to Vina ; but first I want to talk with you 
a little about the wSunday-school.” 

They discussed the probability of a good-sized 
class, and who could be induced to join on the start, 
and various other phases, in which Vina, having 
overheard the topic of conversation, immediately 
became interested. 

I have told James Blake about it,’' she inter- 
rupted, and he says he will be glad to come, and 
he will get as many other boys to come as he can. 
He said you must be very clever to think of doing 
such a thing.” 

Many other things they talked about, and then 
Miss Eunice and her little charges turned their 


44 


EUNICE. 


backs upon the good cheer they had brought to this 
home, and then had a merry ride back to their own 
finer one in the city. 

It was quite late the next day before they came 
away from the schoolhouse where the new Bible 
school had been organized. The children had been 
left at Uncle’s Rod’s, whose comfortable farmhouse 
was two miles away. There they had spent the 
previous night, and from there they would start for 
home, after Tom had called for Miss Eunice at Mrs. 
Parkes’. 

The Bible-school proper was to be held on Fri- 
day afternoons, with the teachers’ Bible-class in the 
evening, so that Eunice might superintend it, at 
least for a while, and be enabled to return to the 
city on Saturday, ready for her own class to which 
she was deeply attached. 

James Blake is a promising boy, and he seems 
so interested and anxious to learn. He ought to 
have opportunities,” said Miss Olway, as they were 
reviewing the prospect. ** Little Tommy Trim, and 
Jane, is it ? too are very bright. In fact, they are all 
interesting, and we have neglected them so long. 
I am glad the work has fallen to me, and to you 
too, Mrs. Parkes and Vina. You will be such a 
help.” 

We will do what we can to please you,” Mrs. 
Parkes answered, ‘‘ but it seems as if we needed it 
the most ourselves. I can see now I used to read 
almost everything else when Celia was here but the 
Bible. If I had read the Bible more, maybe ” 

She could go no farther, and so Miss Olway said, 
in an undertone: ‘Wou will teach Vina now. 


THE STAR OF THE NIGHT-SHADES. 45 


Remember you have Vina. We must do every- 
thing for her.’ \ 

Then after a pause, Mrs. Parkes dried her eyes, 
and smiled as she returned : 

You are so good to propose what you did for 
Vinie. How can we ever thank you ! Of course 
I shall be very lonesome at first, but it is for the 
best, I know ; and to think she can be with you. 
It is more than I ever dreamed of ” 

This was the plan : Miss Olway had proposed 
that Vina should go to the city to attend school and 
live with her and her mother at their expense. 
Their means were not large, but they wished to use 
what they had to the very best advantage ; and 
when they had talked it over, to spend it for Vina 
seemed to them the best thing to be done. Vina 
was to go to her home on Friday, and return to the 
city on Monday. Miss Olway would accompany 
her, but go home on Saturday. It seemed a very 
simple and natural thing to do, but it was a sacri- 
fice for them to take Vina into their home. It 
was also something of a sacrifice to Eunice to go to 
Milston every week to superintend the Bible work ; 
and she had not taken up her cross ” without a 
struggle. She knew that her going away would 
largely prevent the enjoyment of the quiet times ” 
with her mother which were so sacred to her. 
Eunice loved her home and her mother better than 
all else on earth ; and to have Vina there, however 
much she loved the child, meant a less free com- 
munion between herself and her mother. 

This putting aside of self was very painful ; the 
more so as she did not feel positive that its effect 


46 


EUNICE. 


on Vina would justify such a sacrifice. But she 
nobly stifled this doubt, knowing that it was not a 
suggestion of her better self. Moreover, after she 
had really made up her mind ^^to lose her life'' in 
‘‘everything," she did it with a joy which she had 
never before experienced. She was glad, she said 
to herself, that she had obeyed her “ hfeavenly vis- 
ion." 

Thus her time was fully occupied, as she con- 
stantly added new cares. She could not have lived 
an idle life, for it would have been unendurable to 
one of her nature. So, aside from the Milston 
enterprise another matter claimed her attention. A 
new mission was just started in the city. It was 
opened in the very worst quarter, in order to reach 
the most sinful and degraded classes, and Miss 
Olway became greatly interested. She was sure 
she should help it along all she could when she 
found that it was a genuine effort ; and she finally 
persuaded her mother to go with her to one of the 
meetings, to the great horror of her sister-in-law. 
Even Garten disapproved, and afterward observed : 

“Eunice, I commend your earnestness, but a 
young lady is not called upon to attend a meeting 
for outcasts in the worst part of the city at night." 
Then seeing her pained look, he added, more 
gently : “ Of course I know mother went with you, 
but you women are too good to understand the 
danger. I beg of you, don’t go again ! but if you 
must," and he smiled faintly, “ don't fail to let me 
go too." 

Eunice tenderly loved and admired her brother, 
and was greatly grieved by the apparent coldness in 


THE STAR OE THE NIGHT-SHADES. 47 

his religious life since his marriage. But he was 
still the same loving Garton to her and his mother, 
and would do anything to please them, whatever 
might be his personal indifference or dislike. For 
he looked upon them as ‘'model Christians,” 
although he felt that he must ever fall below their 
ideal example. 

Garton Olway was the editor of the most suc- 
cessful newspaper in the city, and to his credit and 
the credit of his readers, let it be said that he kept 
its moral standard high. He proved to the satisfac- 
tion of himself and his friends that a paper could 
prosper if it did not pander to the low tastes of the 
public. His paper was bright and thoroughly 
secular, but never trashy. 

Of this his mother was truly proud, and once said 
to Eunice : “ I do not fear for Garton, dear ; he has 
the true metal and will turn out as noble as his 
father was before him. Lena too is a sweet little 
woman, and has great possibilities in her. She has 
been brought up very differently from you, you 
know, Eunice.” 

This was shortly after the ride to Milston, and 
Eunice replied : “ I often think, mother, that she 
is much lovelier than I ever would have been in her 
circumstances. To be born a slave to fashion would 
have utterly spoiled me — disposition and all ; yet 
she seems to enjoy that atmosphere. Would it ever 
have been natural to me ? ” 

“ That part of her has always been emphasized, 
dear. Where you are very rich, she is lacking.” 

“ ‘ Freely have ye received, freely give ' ; that 
must be our motto, must it not, mamma ? ” 


48 


EUNICE. 


Eunice always talked to her mother like a simple 
child. They both enjoyed this freedom ; and indeed, 
if ever restraint should come, each thought she 
would rather die than endure it. 

Then they began to talk of their protege. In 
answer to Mrs. Olway's question, ^‘Is Vina at all 
like her sister ? ” Eunice replied, thoughtfully : 

In some ways Vina is very much like Celia. 
She is quick and bright with her answers, and often 
surprises me by her intelligent remarks. You know 
Vina is very young yet. You would hardly believe 
that she is only thirteen when you see her, although 
she is so slight and airy-looking. Yes, she reminds 
me of Celia as I first knew her, and it frightens 
me sometimes ; but she is gentler, more pliable, — 
no, not that either — Celia was pliable, too pliable I 
used to think. Well, Vina is more affectionate, I 
guess that is it, and her life has been different. She 
has had to suffer, poor little thing ! Celia’s case 
has impressed her, I think, indelibly, and if we do 
our part for the dear child, I believe she will turn 
out to be a true woman. Mrs. Parkes told me with 
a shudder, the other day, when Vina was out, how 
quick she is with her books. She studies and reads 
all by herself, and Mrs. Parkes says she has an 
^ awful imagination.’ Poor Mrs. Parkes! How 
some of her expressions would annoy Lena; but 
Lena will like Vina.” 

Lena did not at all object to Vina’s coming, espe- 
cially when she found that the girl liked children. 
Moreover, Vina’s presence would not necessarily 
affect Carton’s household, for Eunice and her 
mother lived almost entirely by themselves, sitting 


THE STAR OE THE NIGHT-SHADES. 49 


at the same table with the others only on holidays 
or special occasions, when all wished to be together. 

The reasons for the separation were obvious. 
Mrs. Olway and Eunice did not care for elaborately 
served meals, or gay company ; but preferred the 
retirement of a quiet table, made merry now and 
then by the presence of the children. But Mrs. 
Garton Olway had been accustomed to a different 
manner of living ; and it was in a measure due to 
her own family to continue it. Besides, Garton, 
as a public man, had to entertain frequently. The 
house was large enough to accommodate both styles 
of living, and now it seemed natural that the two 
should exist harmoniously side by side. Garton 
mildly acquiesced in his pretty wife’s mode of life. 
But there was no dancing or card-playing in his 
home, although Lena had at first mildly protested. 
In this, however, he was as mildly firm. 

Lena,” said Garton to his wife, as they were 
alone in their room one evening, soon after Vina had 
come into the family, that is a winsome little 
girl Eunice has taken to bring up.” 

' Yes ; it does not seem possible that that plain- 
faced woman who used to come here can be her 
mother. It is a pity about her sister, isn’t it ? You 
remember something about it, you know ; mother 
and Eunice became as distressed over it as if it was 
in our own family. But it is a great pity — I wonder 
if Vina realizes the disgrace.” 

I dare say she does not ; and do you know, 
wifie, in the light of that affair I think it is beautiful 
of mother and Eunice to take her. Those women 
look ahead a great way,” returned Garton. Really, 

D 


50 


EUNICE. 


they are beyond us, wifie ; we could never keep up 
with them.” 

Garton, you are away beyond me now — I don’t 
even understand what you are talking about. Of 
course it is lovely of them to take her, but then she 
is such an attractive little thing ; I would not mind 
having her with us ; she would make a charming 
maid. She acquires so easily refined manners. I 
can see that already, and she is so quick to discern. 
Have you noticed what excellent language she uses 
for so young a child. Eunice tells me she is only 
thirteen.” 

Really ! She must be exceedingly bright.” 

Oh, indeed she is ! Eunice says it is marvelous 
how quickly she learns. Her sister was just as 
bright too. Do you know,” she added, drawing 
nearer to her husband, when I heard that, I won- 
dered if there was bad blood in the father of these 
children. Vina does not show it, but if there is, it 
is sure to tell sooner or later, and nothing can 
hinder it.” 

A faint sigh, ending in a yawn, followed this 
observation, and Garton, who was very weary, sug- 
gested it was time for them to retire. 


CHAPTER IV. 


VARIOUS CHANGES, 


Life is that whole to which all parts belong. — Anon, 

IN A fitted into her new life very readily, and soon 



V became accustomed to the change. She was 
promoted two or three times in rapid succession be- 
yond the grade where those of her age usually stood. 
She looked upon Miss Olway as very near a saint, 
and was worshipfully obedient to her slightest wish. 
Eunice, on her part, studied the child - with the 
added interest and love which she had once be- 
stowed upon her sister. To Mrs. Olway, Vina gave 
her heart unreservedly. At the first sight she was 
drawn into the protecting motherly arms ; and she 
ielt, although she could not explain it, that she 
should never be afraid of that calm, sweet face. 
There was somewhat more reverence in her love for 
Miss Olway. 

Vina wrote frequently to her mother of her new 
surroundings, and Eunice encouraged the corres- 
pondence. 

She will be so happy to hear all about what you 
are doing, and how you like everything, you know,"' 
Miss Olway told her one day. 

Yes, Miss Eunice, my letter will amuse mamma, 
I know ; but she will be distressed when she reads 
how they have promoted me,’' Vina returned, with 


5 ^ 


EUNICK. 


a quick smile. A shadow of disappointment passed 
over Miss Olway’s face, and Vina, perceiving it, 
added with a slight blush, I should not have said 
that, should I ? But if I am like Celia in that way, 
I need not be in any other, need I? I could not be, 
now that I know you.'' 

‘‘The child is very discriminating," thought 
Eunice that night, as she reviewed the conver- 
sation. “ It will be all the surer, because she is 
wide awake, if she only goes right. God help her, 
and help me ! " 

Not long after parting with his friend, the detec- 
tive, Ernest Radcliffe went to his new charge. If 
he entered upon his duties with the hidden hope 
that some time he should be called to the field 
which even then seemed to him most urgently in 
need, — city mission work, — he nevertheless began 
courageously, knowing that the work which now 
demanded his concentrated attention, lay in another 
quarter. 

Ernest Radcliffe's charge was a country village 
church, with an additional small mission. The 
amount of salary was very small, but there was a 
large field for labor in the surrounding farm dis- 
trict. The mission was in a scattered settlement, 
possessed of one building, in which was the store 
and the post-office and a district schoolhouse, 
where religious services were held. The man- 
ner of holding These services had been some- 
what desultory, as it was entirely dependent upon 
the efforts of the pastor at the regular charge. 
Previous to Ernest Radcliffe’s pastorate the ser- 


VARIOUS CHANGES. 53 

vices had been few, and at best very irregular, 
particularly in the winter. 

But this condition of things was an incentive to the 
young minister. Here was an opportunity for hard, 
earnest labor in a community hitherto debarred from 
regular gospel privileges. He made generous plans. 
The mission appointment should not be slighted ; 
but, first of all, he must reconnoitre, and call upon 
those who formed the membership of his church. 
That was right he thought, for of course he 
must begin at Jerusalem ; but someway he early 
felt that his chief interest after all would be at the 
mission, for upon inquiry he ascertained that there 
were a great many young people there. 

Oncommon tough, some on ’em,” one old man 
declared, with a shrug of the shoulders ; though 
they’s scattered about, which is a good thing, as 
our pastor said. He give up trying to do much 
with ’em.” 

Sheep without a shepherd ! ” was Ernest Rad- 
cliffe’s mental comment. My Father knew best. 
It is evident I am in my right place.” 

It was not an altogether easy task, however, calling 
upon all the farmers, and at the homes of mill opera- 
tives, that were clustered in a certain section of his 
broad district ; but with horse and cutter, and a 
determination to accomplish the work, he com- 
pleted the rounds within a few weeks. 

‘‘ Has the minister called yet } ” asked Mrs. Doty, 
as she dropped in to see Mrs. Parkes and give her 
a new piece of sewing. 

No ; I have not even caught sight of him yet ; 
* but then I have been away now for two Sundays in 


54 


EUNICE. 


the city at Mrs. Olway’s, where Vinie is. They say 
he is very smart and interesting.'' 

Oh, ye-es, he is grand ; so cordial, you know, 
and not a bit proud of his religion, as some are. 
Well ! no use to talk against your betters, as Pete 
says." 

What is his name } " asked Mrs. Parkes, after a 
moment's reflection. 

Ratcliffe — or something like that. I guess he 
comes of an aristocratic family; he looks it. He 
has such pretty hands, though they are large. I al- 
ways notice folks' hands, but Pete says, ^ you better 
notice what they do.' Pete has an idea that hands 
are made to work, and makes such remarks when 
Jennie complains that washing dishes hinders her 
playing fine on the organ. But Pete isn't hard on 
his children ; no, he likes to see them happy and 
enjoying themselves." 

It was not long after this, however, before the 
new minister called. From Mrs. Doty he had heard 
most of the history of Mrs. Parkes, and of her 
recent sorrow in the disappearance of her daughter. 
His sympathy was attracted to the lone woman, 
and he resolved to give her what comfort he could. 

Mrs. Parkes was not only glad to see him, but 
also to hear of his proposed plans for the mission 
work, which was quite near her home. And she 
added : 

‘^Miss Eunice will be glad, and Vinie, my 
daughter." 

‘‘ Is your daughter at home now ? " Mr. Radcliffe 
asked. 

No ; she is in the city, at school ; but she comes 


VARIOUS CHANGES. 


55 


home every Friday. You know I have another 
daughter, Celia ; but she has given me much 
trouble,'' and her eyes filled with tears. 

‘‘Yes; I have heard of your trouble," he am 
swered, conveying such sympathy and helpfulness 
in his tone that Mrs. Parkes almost broke down. 
She told him, somewhat incoherently, how her 
daughter had gone away without so much as saying 
good-bye ; how Miss 01 way had been such a friend 
to them ; how she had already taken Vina into her 
home, and had started a Bible-school ; all this was 
interlarded with many other things, partly in praise 
of Miss Olway, and partly in commiseration of 
herself. 

When she had finished, Mr. Radcliffe remarked : 
“You spoke of a Miss Olway. Does she live in 
the city 

“Yes," was the somewhat eager reply. “Do 
you know her.^" 

“ No ; but I think I knew her brother in college. 
I knew a Carton Olway who lived in Rochester." 

“ It is the very same one, because her brother's 
name is Carton. How odd ! but I am very glad. 
You must meet her, and see if she is not just the 
loveliest girl, as I said. She comes every Friday 
and leads the Bible-class." 

“I should be happy to meet her," he replied. 
“ I admired her brother very much in college, but 
we have not met since." 

After a few more words of social cordiality he 
asked the privilege of reading a short passage from 
his Bible. Then he knelt down, and offered a short, 
earnest prayer. 


56 


EUNICE. 


I never had anything do me so much good since 
the time Miss Eunice talked to me right after our 
trouble/' Mrs. Parkes confessed to a neighbor, who 
also, on her part, owned that the new minister’s 
visits were very helpful. 

Not long after this conversation James Blake 
addressed Miss Olway as she and Vina were de- 
scending the schoolhouse steps, after Bible study 
one Friday evening. ‘^Will you allow me to walk 
with you and Vina,” he said, as you have some little 
distance to go, and meanwhile may I ask you a few 
questions ? ” 

Coming as this did from a tall lad of seventeen, 
who spoke in respectful tones, entirely free from the 
trepidation of ordinary bashfulness, it seemed to 
Eunice that it indicated an unusually manly youth. 
For, although he had a certain awkwardness of 
manner, or rather of movement, it was not caused 
by self-consciousness, but was the result of his size. 
Yet, despite his large proportions, there was a gen- 
tleness about him which she had been quite unpre- 
pared to find. It bespoke itself in his mild, black 
eyes, and quiet, even voice. 

Certainly, Mr. Blake,” returned Miss Olway. 

I am sure we shall be glad of your company,” she 
added, smiling pleasantly, and I will try to answer 
you, if you do not ask too hard questions.” 

Vina held tightly to Eunice’s arm, and listened 
in silence (quite new for her) as James Blake 
spoke. 

It is about what I ought to do,” he said, as they 
walked along; mean in life. P'ather is a plain 
farmer, you know, and I have always worked at 


VARIOUS CHANGES. 


57 


home, except during the winter, when father allowed 
me to go to the district school, and last year to the 
academy at Thrumville, expecting that when I grew 
up and had enough education, I would be a farmer, 
just as he had been ; and now — well ! perhaps it is 
wrong: but I don't like farming. I never really 
thought I would be a farmer when I grew to be a 
man ; and mother, she rather encouraged me a little 
by saying that perhaps I should not have to be. 
Now what I am coming to is this ; we have been 
studying about Paul, and how he had such a clear 
call to his work. Do you think that such guidance 
is the privilege of every Christian He looked 
down with eager inquiry for her answer. 

‘‘ It is the blessed privilege of every Christian to 
be guided into all his life-work," she answered, un- 
hesitatingly. We are not all called in the same 
way as Paul was. Indeed, I hardly think any two 
are directed alike ; but," and she said this with quite 
the emphasis peculiar to herself, ‘‘ we all may re- 
ceive unmistakable direction, if we will look for it ; 
yes, though we must sometimes wait for it." 

Thank you," he said ; ‘‘ I was not sure it could 
be so. It seemed so wonderful to me; and yet, 
after all, it is natural too," he added, after a momen- 
tary pause. 

‘‘Very natural that our Father should lead us. 
Have you any especial calling in mind ? " she pres- 
ently asked. “ I do believe we are sometimes led 
through the help or advice of others." 

“Yes," he answered, as if grasping a new idea. 
“ I had not thought before that we could be led in 
that way ; I thought it must be direct, if at all." 


58 


EUNICE. 


If the indirect is unmistakable ? '' 

‘‘That is it; how are we sure that it is?’' he 
asked. 

But just at this point they met some one in the 
road. Miss Olway, in her earnest conversation, had 
not noticed the approach of a gentleman who was 
coming toward them. Vina had been watching the 
figure in the twilight, but only indifferently, as she 
too was absorbed in what was being said. 

“ Good-evening, Mr. Blake,” said the strange gen- 
tleman, lifting his hat. “You are just coming from 
Bible study, I imagine. And this is Miss Vina 
Parkes, I believe. I saw you on Sunday, with your 
mother,” he added. 

“Mr. Radcliffe, this is Miss Olway — Miss Eu- 
nice Olway, of whom mamma has talked to you, I 
am sure,” Vina remarked, with a mischievous 
twinkle in her eye. 

“ Miss Olway, this is indeed a pleasure. I really 
feel quite well acquainted with you already. Per- 
haps I have rather an unfair advantage.” 

“ I have heard of you also, Mr. Radcliffe, from 
the same source. Mrs. Parkes said she thought 
you knew my brother, and then I remembered he 
had often spoken of you as a very dear friend.” 

“He and I were in college together. He was 
two classes ahead of me, but we were warm friends ; 
we belonged to the same fraternity, you know. I 
remember him with pleasure. I quite revered him 
once.” He put a touch of boyishness into these 
last words. 

“When you were a freshman, no doubt,” Miss 
Olway said, with a smile. 


VARIOUS CHANGES. 59 

‘‘Yes, and later,’' he replied, as he raised his hat, 
and bade them good evening. 

As they walked on, James said: “That man is 
the kind of a minister I like. He does not try to 
show off what he knows ; and somehow he gets 
hold of the boys. They all speak well of him ; and 
he is the first one they have not tormented. Some 
of them at least, ever since I can remember.” 

“ Why not ask his advice about your life-work ? ” 
Eunice suddenly suggested. “ I am sure he would 
gladly help you, and he has had experience as a 
boy himself.” 

“I do believe I will,” he answered; “but I thank 
you for your help. I felt that I could trust what- 
ever you said.” 

“Thank you, James. May God direct and pros- 
per you.” 

They were at Mrs. Parkes’ gate, and Vina could 
keep still no longer. With a quick breath and “ I 
say so too, James,” she relinquished Eunice’s arm, 
and darted into the house so suddenly that the two 
outside were astonished. 

“What a spry little maiden she is!” exclaimed 
Eunice. 

“Yes,” James assented, coloring a little. “Good- 
night, Miss Olway.” 

“ Good-night.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Blake were highly respected in 
their own neighborhood. Mr. Blake had been a 
hard-working man, and would have been well to do 
had he not recently sustained a heavy financial loss. 
Farming never had brought in money very fast, but 
it was safe and sure ; he had that consolation now. 


6o 


EUNICE. 


He, for one, had never believed in agriculture on 
too large a scale, with all the modern improvements ; 
so, instead of adding constantly to his farming re- 
sources, he had invested his savings in a mill enter- 
prise, which had been, and promised to be, highly 
prosperous. But suddenly it failed ; and now the 
farm was all that they had, except a little income 
belonging to Mrs. Blake. They had but one child, 
however, and James was a strong, faithful boy, who 
was willing to work. But to the great disappoint- 
ment of his father, he preferred other employment 
to the farm. 

is too bad, Harriet,'' said Mr. Blake to his 
wife one day ; it is too bad, when he is our only 
son, that he does not like to work the homestead 
place. It does somewhat annoy a man of my age 
not to have a son who will step into my shoes. It 
is because I know that farming is a safe business 
that makes me so anxious ; and you know what 
failing is, Harriet ; we have had our taste of that." 

‘‘Yes, John, with all your calculating. Of course 
I know it was due to that mill investment. But 
then, what if you had put your money in farm lands 
out west, and a panic had come, as they sometimes 
do, what better off would you have been with all 
that land on your hands, and the taxes to pay, and 
all.?" 

“That is different, Harriet. I would not have 
invested in western lands." 

“You cannot tell; you might. Any way,'’ she 
proceeded, with calm persistence, “ I do not believe 
we can plan, and be sure it is all coming out right. 
Of course I mean in money matters. I believe 


VARIOUS CHANGES. 


6l 


that the righteous will never be found begging 
bread ; but as to luxury 

^^Look here, Harriet! I don't want luxury for 
James, but I would like to see him well established 
before we die." 

‘^Now, John, don’t borrow trouble about James. 
He will prosper, if any boy will. He has it in him. 
He is cautious like you, and hopeful like me, and 
for my part, I don’t care about his always being a 
farmer if he finds he is cut out for something else.’’ 

Well, Harriet, you always get the best of it, and 
I don’t mean to worry ; but things look rather un- 
certain sometimes.’’ 

James is young yet, you know,’’ she said, her 
face brightening, ‘‘and he wants an education. 
People now-a-days must have more schooling than 
they did in our day, although I always made the 
most of what I had ; and don’t you remember too, 
John, how anxious you were to keep on, after you 
had to work } ’’ 

“ Oh, I mean James shall have a fair chance, but 
he is very intelligent now, Harriet ; he is such a 
reader.’’ 

“ So much the more reason why he should have 
schooling, John.’’ 

Such was the talk that occurred between Mr. 
and Mrs. Blake, a few days after James’ conversa- 
tion with Miss Olway. 

James Blake was always a serious lad. He was 
not older than his years by any means, but unlike 
some of his companions, he scorned to play or 
enter into a joke which would wound some one. 
He looked upon it as unbecoming a man to aim 


62 


EUNICE. 


ridicule at the poor, old, or decrepit ones of the 
village. However, he was fond of all boyish sports, 
and many were the coon hunts in which he indulged. 
In the winter, when the hills were in good condition, 
he was always ready to give some one a ride, and his 
double ripper '' was ever in great demand. Alto- 
gether he was greatly respected by all the boys and 
girls in Milston, even after his return from the 
academy, though certain ones had prophesied that 
he would be too fine for anything.*' So it is not 
surprising that he succeeded in interesting a goodly 
number in the Bible classes, nor strange that when 
Mr. Radcliffe came all were ready to endorse his 
opinion of the new minister. 

Vina Parkes had never attended school at Milston, 
for she had been too busily occupied at home. But 
in the course of time she had become acquainted 
with most of the girls and boys, and among them 
James Blake. He always spoke to her kindly, for 
he felt sorry for her, because of the stories afloat 
about her sister ; and there had come to be pleasant 
friendship between them. Vina greatly enjoyed 
telling him some funny story, and watching the 
puzzled look on his face, until it finally dawned upon 
him that she was joking. Even then he seldom 
laughed, but his large, black eyes would take on a 
peculiar softness which always pleased her. He 
never criticised her actions or questioned her 
motives, but mutely accepted her for what she 
seemed, without doubt or analysis. 

Since Vina had lived in the city, she had had 
fewer talks with James, and although there was no 
apparent coldness in their friendship, yet she felt 


VARIOUS CHANGES. 


63 


that there was a difference which she did not like. 
It troubled her after that walk home from the Bible- 
class, and she often wondered what could be done. 

am going right along in my studies,’' she 
thought. Could it be possible that she was leav- 
ing him behind } 

One day, after she had been thinking on the sub- 
ject, she said to Miss Olway, wish James had 
such a good friend as I have ; one who would put 
him through school.” 

‘‘ I wish so too, Vina, and I have been wondering 
how we could help him.” She always included 
Vina now in her plans of helping others. 

‘‘ Could Carton help him ? ” the latter had almost 
asked, but concluded that she had better not. A 
feeling that Eunice would know just what was the 
best thing to do, together with a sense of the 
ridiculousness of her trying to help James, made 
her hesitate. Vina was learning to believe that 
somehow all would come around right in the end 
without her interference. , 

Association with the Olway family was teaching 
Vina a great many things. Every afternoon, as 
soon as her studying was over, she had a good romp 
with the children, in which Eunice also joined, when 
she had the time at her disposal. Hollis and Dora 
looked forward each day to this hour with Vina, 
which was spent in the nursery if the weather was 
unpleasant, or in the playground in the back yard 
when the sun shone. It was a pleasure also to 
Vina, and brought a faint color in her cheeks ; for 
she was a delicate-looking child, although apparently 
in perfect health. 


64 


EUNICE. 


If there was any one thing in which Vina excelled 
in the children's eyes, it was as a story-teller. In- 
deed, she was the most delightful one they had ever 
captured ; and, what was most entrancing, she would 
act out the stories, making herself anything from 
the ‘'Witch of Endor," to “Rip Van Winkle.” 
Moreover, her tales usually had a different version 
at each rehearsal, and this fact did away with all 
monotony. 

But with all its advantages, this elasticity of nar- 
ration was not wholly pleasing to Hollis ; for at 
times when Vina changed the fate of the chief 
character, he would exclaim, impatiently : “ Don’t ! ” 
If “Jack” once fell from the top of his bean-stalk 
and broke his neck, that was the end of him for 
Hollis. He would not have anything to do with a 
“Jack” who soon sat up, and began “to eat bad 
little boys,” as the latter fell into some guilty scrape. 
This rejection of the marvelous was remarkable in 
so young a child; but Vina soon noticed that it 
made .quite a difference when “Jack” fed upon 
“bad little girls” under similar circumstances. 

Hollis was a stanch upholder of his own sex ; but 
Dora was more liberal, drinking in the tales with 
uncritical delight. Each, however, was overflowing 
with a child’s abundance of questions. 

Once Dora, after looking mysteriously at Vina, 
whispered: “Aren’t you Celia Dora had often 
seen Celia, when Eunice had brought her to the 
house, and Celia had held and talked to the child, 
sometimes favoring her with a story, told in the 
same animated style so natural to Vina. Yet more 
than two years had passed since then ; but Dora had 


VARIOUS CHANGES. 


65 


often overheard the name. I love Celia,” she con- 
tinued, with keen scrutiny. No ; you aren’t Celia, 
either.” 

‘‘Why, Dora!” exclaimed Vina, “don’t you 
know.^^ I am Vina!” 

But still the child was puzzled. It was a new, 
unanswered problem, and she afterward asked Miss 
Olway about it. 

“ Strange that the baby should see what we have 
tried not to see, isn’t it, mother dear ? ” asked Eu- 
nice, in her mother’s room, the same night. “It 
looks as if the likeness was pretty strong.” 

“ I think Vina will be like what Celia might have 
been under other circumstances,” Mrs. Olway an- 
swered, with a thoughtful expression in her eyes. 

“Yes, mother, I see what you mean, and that is 
my great hope.” 

Vina’s evenings were usually spent in “ grandma’s 
room,” where the children often came for a little 
while before Eunice put them to rest. Eunice had 
begged Lena to let her care for the children instead 
of having a regular nurse ; for she could not endure 
the thought of having her brother’s children under 
the careless influence of an ignorant maid. So it 
was generally her great delight to put the little ones 
to bed. 

During this interval, Vina and “grandma,” as 
Vina sometimes called Mrs. Olway, in imitation of 
the children, would have a confldential talk. Occa- 
sionally Mrs. Olway took the girl into her lap, and 
fondled her like a baby. But this treatment was 
something Vina had never experienced before — 
Mrs. Parkes’ tenderness was not of this sort. The 

E 


66 


EUNICE. 


soft voice and caress, mingled with words that 
seemed to speak right to the girl’s heart, and read 
her inmost thoughts and desires — these were in 
marked contrast with the qualifications Vina had 
hitherto considered available in a mother ; and she 
could not avoid a comparison. 

Favored with such an environment, Vina’s pliant 
nature could not help being molded, to a great ex- 
tent, by Eunice and Mrs. Olway. To be sure, Vina 
came in contact with Mrs. Garton Olway occasion- 
ally, but the latter was usually occupied with other 
and outside cares. So Vina reflected the Olway 
personality to such a degree that Mrs. Parkes was 
quite confident that this daughter at least was going 
to be a good girl, ‘Tike Eunice,” and that her 
career might be one that would bring great joy to 
her. 


CHAPTER V. 


FRIENDS MEET. 

Where friendship full exerts her softest powers, 

Perfect esteem enlivened by desire 
Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ; 

Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, 
With boundless confidence. 

— Thomson, 

I T was one of those capricious days in March, 
when the air grows balmy and makes one feel 
that spring is near at hand, if not already present 
in disguise, and then, just as she is almost in sight, 
she suddenly turns a cold shoulder as it were, and 
scatters a few flakes of snow, as if to give warn- 
ing not to be too sure of her favors. 

The day was Friday, and Miss Olway and Vina 
had come as usual from the city, and were just 
entering the house at Milston. 

‘‘ Why, mamma, what have you the table all set 
for, and the best linen and china out ? ” asked Vina, 
as soon as her quick eyes took in the situation. 

Are we going to have a tea-party.?” She took 
off her cap and mittens, and catching up the kitten, 
tip-toed into the dining-room, with the purring mite 
of fur snuggled against her neck. 

You and Miss Eunice would like to know now, 
wouldn’t you — eh .? ” Mrs. Parkes replied, her lips 
smiling, as she gave Vina a playful pinch on the 

67 


68 


EUNICE. 


cheek. They had never seen her in such good 
spirits since her trouble with Celia. ‘‘ Well, to sat- 
isfy your curiosity, I will tell you. The minister is 
coming to tea, and probably he will be at the Bible- 
class. Anyway, I asked him to come, and said : 
‘You can call for the girls at the schoolhouse, if 
you like,’ and he returned, ‘thank you, I think I 
will, — that is, if you think they would not object.’ 
He was going to say ‘ Miss Olway,’ but he stopped 
and said, ‘they,’ ”'she explained, with a bright look. 

Eunice hardly knew what reply to make to this, 
but Vina remarked, rather wickedly : 

“ Mr. Radcliffe is very careful about his rhetoric, 
mamma. He always knows when to use a proper, 
and when a common noun.” 

The expected guest had evidently decided that 
there could be no objection to his walking home 
with the young women from the Bible-school ; for 
he was waiting in the hallway as they came out, 
and explained that he did not enter, fearing to 
disturb the lesson. He shook hands cordially with 
all the young people, and was greeted as a general 
favorite, but with marked respect. 

As they were going out, Vina managed to reply 
in an undertone to James Blake, who had come up 
and asked to walk home with her : 

“Why, yes, James ; I think it is good of you, 
for,” nodding toward Eunice and Mr. Radcliffe, 
who were just in front, “they are company for 
each other, and ” but she left her sentence un- 

finished. 

James looked down at her, with the shadow of a 
smile in his eyes. He seemed to see the propriety 


FRIKNDS MEKT. 69 

of those two going together undisturbed, and said 
aloud : 

‘‘ Aren’t they both grand ? If you and I were 
half as ” 

Now, James,” she interrupted, ‘‘that is almost a 
sin. The idea of comparing us with them at all ! ” 

This remark surprised him a little, and he said 
more earnestly : 

“ Why, Vinie, it isn’t a sin to wish to become 
like your ideal, is it ? ” 

His misconception made her laugh outright. 
“James, you are so obtuse, that I believe that if a 
girl proposed to you, you would never see the joke.” 

Such talk from her was painful to him. He 
never could understand a great many things Vina 
said, but he had never before thought her at all 
rude. 

When she saw his utter misapprehension, she 
blushed, thinking that perhaps she had gone too far. 
“ Don’t you see, James, when I spoke about compar- 
ing us with them, I meant as a couple ; for I be- 
lieve Mr. Radcliffe likes Eunice very much, and 
mamma does too. And then, when you were so 
dull, I could not help that other speech. But don’t 
scowl so, I did not mean a bit of it, and it is all 
because mamma invited him to tea.” She could 
not endure losing James’ good opinion. 

After they had walked along for what seemed an 
age to Vina, the truth finally dawned upon James, 
and he exclaimed : 

“ O Vinie, you are so quick ! But do you think 
you ought to be such a little rogue You must 
not be a frivolous woman, Vinie. I could not bear 


70 


EUNICE. 


that,” he added a moment later. When he saw that 
the tears were dangerously near her lashes, he con- 
tinued, with a peculiar tenderness in his voice: 
^‘Forgive me, Vinie! but remember it makes a 
great difference to me what you are.” 

Just then Miss Olway’s voice was heard from 
behind, calling: 

Vina dear, are you not coming in now ? ” 

They had passed the house without perceiving it. 

‘‘You children were talking so earnestly I dis- 
liked to disturb you,” she added, thinking that they 
had probably been discussing the lesson, as James 
had seerned so much impressed that afternoon. 

Vina had no bright answer ready this time, but 
with a word to James, who lifted his hat as he bade 
them good-night, she passed through the gate with 
a sober face, which was unusual for her, and Eunice 
was more than ever convinced that James had im- 
pressed Vina with his earnestness, and was inwardly 
glad. 

Waiting on the steps for her charge. Miss Olway 
put her arm about the slim little waist, as they 
entered the door, and Vina returned the caress with 
a kiss, but there was no time now for questioning. 

Mrs. Parkes was in the hall to welcome them, 
and said, as she shook hands with Mr. Radcliffe : 
“ I am very glad to see you ! Here, Vinie, you 
take the minister’s hat and coat.” 

“ Oh, no, thank you ! ” he interrupted, laying 
aside his overcoat ; “ let me me wait on myself, 
please. I will hang it right up here,” appropriating 
an empty hook behind the door. 

Miss Olway’s cheeks were rosy, and her eyes 


FRIENDS MEET. 


71 


were softly luminous. The touch of spring in the 
air made her almost jubilant. She had once said 
to a friend, — a woman much older than herself, — I 
love all the seasons of the year, but every spring I 
renew my youth. The little hills within me clap 
their hands and sing, and the lambs skip for joy.’’ 

‘‘That must be why you never grow old,” was 
the answer. 

Eunice was so full of the Bible that her spon- 
taneous outbursts were sure to be colored by its 
phraseology. 

To-night she seemed to shed a radiance like 
moonlight that gives chaste beauty to the most 
unseemly landscape. People generally likened her 
presence (when they thought or compared it with 
anything at all) to sunshine, and especially its 
warmth, because they felt that she thawed them 
out, so to speak. But she never dazzled them. 
No one could understand the influence of her pres- 
ence, but accepted it as common blessing. 

There was something aside from the season, how- 
ever, that made her unusually happy that evening. 
It always brings joy to find a congenial friend, and 
especially a friend whose highest ideal accords with 
one’s own. 

During their short walk from the schoolhouse, 
Mr. Radcliffe talked of the higher life, and of his 
aspirations in a way that made Eunice’s heart 
bound. They had talked upon that topic naturally 
enough. She had been speaking of the life of 
Paul and his wonderful consecration, her words still 
aglow with the teacher’s enthusiasm, and finally he 
said : 


72 


EUNICE. 


you know, Miss Olway, it is only of late 
that I have come to look upon that life with your 
conception of it ? I thought I had appreciated it 
before, but I was grossly blind. The truth came to 
me through a strange impression which I received 
from a scene in real life,'' and he shrugged his 
shoulders at the thought. ‘‘You will not under- 
stand me, perhaps, but I had looked upon moral 
degradation as something impossible, something 
utterly foreign to me, that I had nothing to do 
with, as a Christian ; but then, in an instant almost, 
I seemed to see myself as one in a sense responsi- 
ble for that sin and misery which I beheld. I could 
not shake off the impression for days. I never 
realized before the responsibility which rests upon 
every Christian, indeed upon every enlightened 
man ; responsibility for the spiritual, yes, and the 
general condition of others." He had spoken with 
intense earnestness, which thrilled her inmost 
soul. 

“ I too have felt the same, and I too had to learn 
it from a sad lesson ; but," she added, and the sad- 
ness was all gone from her voice, “ I have learned 
it, and it makes life truly grand ! " 

Then they were both silent, until he said : “ I 
knew you understood ; but it seemed as if you must 
have always known." 

She was still thinking of this conversation after 
they had reached the house, where a change in the 
tenor of the talk had been made. 

“ You have had a cold walk, and must be hungry. 
I will soon have supper on the table," Mrs. Parkes 
remarked as they entered. Then she added as she 


FRIENDS MEET. 73 

started toward the dining-room door, ‘‘ Come, Vinie, 
can you help me a little ? 

Yes, mamma ! ” she answered, tripping out after 
her mother. 

Do let me come too,” said Eunice, rising. 

^^No, Miss Eunice!” exclaimed Vina, turning 
round, and spinning like a top several times be- 
fore coming to a standstill. ^‘Do you hear that, 
mamma ? Miss Eunice wants to help too.” 

She must not do any such a thing 1 ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Parkes, hurrying back into the room to add 
emphasis to her words. ^'No, Miss Eunice, you 
entertain Mr. Radcliffe, please. There is hardly 
anything to do, anyway.” 

Eunice yielded gracefully, and Mr. Radcliffe said, 
with a laugh : 

** I should not dare offer my services after that.” 

^‘No, indeed,” declared Mrs. Parkes, also laugh- 
ing, as she hurried back to the kitchen. 

‘‘What a brisk little woman she is I ” Mr. Radcliffe 
observed, after a moment. 

“Yes,” answered Eunice; “the dear woman has 
forgotten her great trouble in the thought of mak- 
ing us comfortable. She keeps up wonderfully, for 
Vina’s sake, lately. I have noticed it often. She 
seems to have a stronger faith,” she added, after a 
pause, and looking up thoughtfully. 

“ She said as much to me the other day, when I 
called.” 

“I am so glad you call often. It does her a 
world of good — your calling.” 

He looked pleased and replied, “ I am sure it does 
me far more good to come.” 


74 


EUNICE. 


Both were thoughtful for a moment, and then he 
continued, as if there had been no interruption to 
their talk before entering the house. 

‘‘After that revelation, I felt that it must have 
some connection with my coming here ; at least, I 
feel that sometime I shall find a strange sequel to it 
all ; the impression was so vivid. Perhaps I needed 
it as a preparation. The after life is always a sequel 
to what has gone before, and the truer we are as we 
go along, the more clearly we shall see it. Is it 
not so ? 

“I think I know what you mean. You are led 
by direct impressions, and you feel that if you are 
true to the revelation of which you speak that you 
will sometime see in it the working out of a great 
purpose in your life ? ” 

“ That is it exactly,” he said, emphatically, adding 
mentally : “ What a pleasure it is to commune soul 
with soul,” and he admitted, “ with such a soul.” 

It was wonderful how naturally they talked to- 
gether of these higher things, and how readily they 
understood each other’s half-expressed thoughts. 

“ Come, now, everything is all ready,” said Mrs. 
Parkes, suddenly appearing in the parlor door. 

As they were seating ' themselves at the table, 
Vina remarked, looking at her mother : “ Isn’t it 
nice, mamma, being four square,” making a quick 
gesture with her hand, which united herself and her 
mother and the other two. 

“Indeed it is,” Mrs. Parkes assented, with a 
smile. 

Then their heads were reverently bowed while 
Mr. Radcliffe asked the blessing. There was a 


frie:nds meet. 75 

little silence following his earnest words which Vina 
was the first to break. 

Mamma, the Bible-school is getting on beauti- 
fully. Nearly all the boys come now every time. 
They think Miss Olway is an angel,” and she glanced 
sidewise at Eunice. ‘‘Yes, really. I heard one of 
them say so. This is just what he said : ‘ She’s an an- 
gel ! — none o’ yer kind with wings pasted on like you 
see in story books. No, sir ; but I declare, when 
she was talkin’ as how Jesus was wunst a boy, and 
so good to his mother an’ everybody, though he 
knowed he was God and had a right to do as he 
pleased, when he was in the temple, you know, — 
didn’t yer see her face, how it all melted up into 
light like ? My, thinks I, there is angels after all.’ 
I didn’t hear any more, because they went out the 
door. That was this afternoon when the children 
went away from Bible-school.” Vina had remem- 
bered the way the boy had said it, and she imitated 
the voice and pronunciation so perfectly that they 
all involuntarily laughed. 

Then Mr. Radcliffe, feeling the pathos of it, said : 
“ It is the consecrated s.oul which attracts others. 
They always recognize the Christ-spirit, no matter 
how ignorant or simple. Is it not wonderful ? ” 

All were serious now, although Vina at first had 
seen only the amusing side. 

Vina’s impersonation of the boy and her manner 
of doing it especially, started Mr. Radcliffe thinking. 
It seemed to bring up certain unpleasant associations 
strangely to his mind. 

After supper they talked further about the pros- 
pects of the Bible-school, and Mr. Radcliffe ex- 


76 


e:unice. 


pressed a wish that Milston would soon have a 
regular pastor. This led him to speak of his prin- 
cipal charge, and so the conversation went on 
pleasantly, and sometimes cheerily, into the evening. 

Then there was some music, for Mrs. Parkes had 
an old cottage organ which had been bought for 
Celia in the days gone by. Vina played a little and 
Miss Olway and Mr. Radcliffe sang. They had 
never sung together before, and neither knew that 
the other had such a good voice. Eunice’s voice 
was a rich mezzo-soprano, and when she sang, her 
whole soul seemed to flow into the words and 
tones. 

Ernest Radcliffe was not surprised at her singing. 
^^It was what I expected,” he afterward said to 
himself. It is the voice which would naturally go 
with such a face and character.” 

Evidently both enjoyed singing, for they kept 
on, going from one song to another, with scarcely a 
thought as to whether or not their hearers were en- 
joying it as well. 

Mrs. Parkes, in fact, had never cared much for 
music ; but she enjoyed it too, especially since 
Eunice was taking part. 

At last Eunice exclaimed ; Why Vina ! are you 
not tired ? I did not imagine we had sung so long.” 

The clock was striking nine. 

Mrs. Parkes’ eyes were full of tears as Miss Olway 
turned away from the organ. 

‘^How thoughtless and selfish I have been,” Eu- 
nice thought. The poor woman has been reminded 
of Celia. Perhaps we have sung something which 
Celia used to play.” 


FRIENDS MEET. 77 

“Ah, music takes away all sense of time and 
space. I must be going,’' Ernest Radcliffe said. 

“Oh, no!” ejaculated Mrs. Parkes. 

He stayed a little longer and talked chiefly with 
Mrs. Parkes. He too felt a little compunction 
about the singing. “ I was to blame,” he thought, 
“for I kept calling for piece after piece, but ” 

After they had had a moment of reading and 
prayer, Mr. Radcliffe said, rising : 

“It was very kind of you to invite me, Mrs. 
Parkes. I appreciate it, I can assure you.” When 
he came to shake Eunice’s hand in parting, he said 
in an undertone : “ I am thankful for the privilege 
of meeting you here. Miss Olway.” And then he 
went. 

Eunice always looked back to this evening as an 
occasion of peculiar blessedness to her. She em- 
balmed its memory, as it were, with sacred odors, 
scarcely daring to look at her treasure openly, but 
feeling, nevertheless, that it was a treasure. 

As he went home to Milston, after the evening 
spent at Mrs. Parkes, Ernest Radcliffe was deep in 
thought. The possibilities of life were crowding 
thickly upon his mind. The past few weeks had 
brought him new and ever-deepening experiences; 
and he felt, more and more, that he was being “led 
in a mysterious way” into wider usefulness. 

The church at Milston Center, although compar- 
atively small, opened up a large field of work to his 
expectant eyes ; he soon saw evidences of a “ none- 
too-spiritual ” devotion on the part of the majority 
of his members. He felt, but would not acknowl- 
edge it, that he was laboring under a disadvantage. 


78 


EUNICE. 


because his predecessor had sought to attract out- 
siders more than to build up the faith of those who 
were already in the church. 

Many ministers perhaps, would have esteemed 
themselves forced to consider the problem, how 
far they might place popular approval below the 
real growth of the church itself, without offending 
those who were already members. But the ques- 
tion, with its subtleties of related influences, capable 
of human, measurement, and calling for human con- 
sideration, never troubled Ernest Radcliffe. His 
idea of the preacher was that he should be a person 
who received his ‘^message ’’ directly from God ; one 
who would always make his own conception of human 
needs, and his own weighing of possible grains of 
effect, subservient to the direct leading of the 
Spirit. 

But, strange to say, the very plainness of speech, 
and the pointedness of his texts, instead of repelling, 
after a short time won popularity. 

It had been his aim, because it was his under- 
standing of the Divine will, first to qualify his flock 
to be a magnet, by feeding them with the ‘‘bread’’ 
and “ strong meat,” or, if necessary, with the “ milk ” ; 
and later, but not until then, specifically to feed the 
thousands who might be attracted by the “loaves 
and fishes.” The words : “ Lovest thou me } Then 
feed my sheep,” were constantly ringing in his ears. 

Of course Ernest Radcliffe was not exempt from 
criticism. Mrs. Hull, in talking over “the new 
minister” when she called informally on Mrs. 
Langley, said : 

“Yes, our minister is very earnest, very earnest 


FRIENDS MEET. 


79 


indeed ; but, do you know, I fear he is going to lack 
tact in the pulpit ; and it is odd too, for he seems 
• to have a good deal of tact in company. Really he 
is very winning, socially. But then he is young yet, 
and I believe this is his first charge.” 

Indeed ! ” ’murmured Mrs. Langley. My daugh- 
ters are very enthusiastic over him. They say he 
is simply grand; but you know I cannot get out 
much to church, so I have not heard him at all yet. 
But I did enjoy his call very much.” Mrs. Langley 
was an invalid and appreciated calls. 

‘^Well, anyway,” Mrs. Hall continued, ^‘he drove 
away the outsiders at first ; ” but her fidelity to truth 
obliged her to add, ‘Hhough they do come better 
now.” Mrs. Hall was a good member, and did not 
mean to be critical ; but her idea of a preacher’s 
mission differed from that of Ernest Radcliffe. 

The latter, happily, was altogether unconscious of 
being discussed, and went on with his plans for Mil- 
ston Center and Milston, as if the work had been 
committed to his especial charge. 

On this particular night, however, Ernest Rad- 
cliffe was not thinking exclusively of his own plans 
of work. He was, on the contrary, thinking of 
another’s plans of work; and, if the truth was to 
be told, those of Miss Olway. 

‘‘ It is wonderful what an interest she has aroused 
among the young people at Milston, and what a 
sacrifice she is making. It must, indeed, have been 
a sacrifice to begin such a work, when she had to 
leave her delightful home in the city where, no 
doubt, she had already more work on hand than 
most people, and come to Milston through all 


8o 


EUNICE. 


weathers to teach a class of ignorant, and, in some 
cases, uncouth youths, and set them to work for one 
another. But to live, for her, means to sacrifice. 
I was looking at her then from an outsider’s stand- 
point,” he added. Then he thought of her voice, 
and enjoyed again, in memory, the effect of its 
marvelous sweetness. ‘‘ She is a rare soul ! ” he 
meditated ; then, by a sudden reversion of thought, 
Vina’s speech at the table occurred to him. Her 
manner, or something ! ” he said. Why did that 
remind him of the scene at the Night-shades.^ He 
shuddered. ‘‘No! it could not be; yet there is a 
strange likeness.” He tried to shake it off. It was 
unnecessary to make such inferences; and it was 
very painful. He would at least wait until he could 
make further inquiries. Still, the thought troubled 
him, and he determined to make a study of the 
case. 

When he reached home he found a letter ad- 
dressed to him in a plain, legible hand. It was 
from James Blake, giving thanks for the help he 
had received in a recent conversation, and saying 
that the way now was clear, and his duty plain. 

“ Good I the dear fellow is going to make an un- 
common man if he is encouraged ; it is an oppor- 
tunity to be able to assist him a little. I must call 
over there to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER VL 


PASTORAL WORK. 

His thoughts were as a pyramid up-piled, 

On whose far top an angel stood and smiled, 

Yet in his heart was he a simple child. 

— Laman Blanchard, 

T he next day, although his duties crowded upon 
him, Mr. Radcliffe found time to fulfill the 
obligation which he had laid upon himself. 

No one was at home but Mrs. Blake. She, how- 
ever, was overjoyed to see him. 

‘‘You are so kind to be interested in my son,” 
she began. 

“ Oh, no ; not kind, Mrs. Blake, only wise to see 
my privilege,” he answered, with a genial smile, as 
he took the rocker which she drew up for him. 

“I mean to take as much pains as you have. 
Not many ministers,” she added, with emphasis, 
when she saw that he was about to interpose, 
“would have offered to do all that you have done.” 

“ If you talk like that I shall begin to think my- 
self quite a hero,” he returned, laughing ; then 
added, more soberly : “ I have already written to 
secure the scholarship, and I came over to-day to 
congratulate you on the decision your son has made. 
He has the genuine ‘stuff' in him, as we college 
men used to say, but it needs the chance for culti- 
vation, and I am glad -” 


F 


8i 


82 


KUNICK. 


Mrs. Blake could not wait for him to finish. 
^‘That is just what I always said. I have told John 
so again and again; but John, you know,” and her 
voice softened, ‘‘has been over-anxious since our 
money trouble. He was sometimes a little too 
cautious, I thought — I mean for his own comfort. 
But now he is real resigned, and thinks perhaps 
there is a providence in it, since you approve so 
heartily.” 

Mrs. Blake had great charity for her husband, 
and bore all his “worrying” with abundant cheer- 
fulness. She was fairly beaming with pride and 
joy to-day, and she felt perfectly justified in it. 

“Yes; James is a good lad,” she continued; 
“ he is serious — never a cloud about the house — 
not that ; but he always — from a child — looked at 
the sober side of things. I did fear once,” she con- 
fessed in a lower tone, “ that perhaps he would be 
too serious for this world ; but he outgrew that.” 

“I think he might begin immediately, at least 
with the spring term,” suggested Mr. Radcliffe, 
with a rising inflection on the last word. 

“Yes; he is very anxious to commence, since he 
has decided,” she replied. “ Oh, how we shall miss 
him ! ” The mother weakness came out now, though 
she seemed not to have thought of herself before. 

“True,” said he, sympathetically. “But think 
of the pleasure when he comes home again.” There 
was an undertone in his last words, as if they held 
a part of his own personal experience. “ It is hard, 
but it is sweet. I suppose the ruggedness of the 
road here will make it all the sweeter there,” he 
added, with a thoughtful look out of the window. 


PASTORAL WORK. 


83 


James and his father were off with a load of 
lumber, and did not return before Mr. Radcliffe 
had to leave ; but the minister left his words of 
advice and encouragement with the mother, and 
went away feeling glad that he could participate in 
her joy. 

Ernest Radcliffe’s interest in the Milston people 
took him over that way quite often — not to the neg- 
lect of the work at Milston Center, but to the chagrin, 
it was said, of a few young women who were desirous 
of seeing more of the popular young pastor. 

‘‘ There is a young lady who comes there from 
the city — so I have heard — every week, to teach a 
Bible class, or something. She comes with Vina 
Parkes. Charlie says she is awfully sweet, — no; 
he didn’t say that either,” she continued, wrinkling 
her forehead, as if it was quite essential to recall 
exactly the expression that was used. Oh, I have 
it now, ‘awfully lovely, and really a beauty some- 
times.’ But I believe he just said it to bother me. 
He went over there one night, you know, to the 
Bible class, because he had heard James Blake talk 
so much about it.” 

This was what Nellie Williams was saying to 
Maud Cummings that same afternoon, as the two 
sat chatting over their crochet-work. 

“And so you think she is the one ? ” asked Maud. 

“Well; I thought perhaps, for Charlie said to 
mamma, when he knew I was listening, that he 
thought Mr. Radcliffe was just fine; and that Miss 
Olway, as he called her, was about the sweetest girl 
he had ever seen, and in his opinion Mr. Radcliffe 
and she would make a pretty ‘ swell ’ match, and he 


84 


EUNICE. 


guessed Mr. Radcliffe though so too, if he had eyes 
like other men.” 

‘^But, see here, Nellie; do you know I heard the 
other day that he was engaged anyway, before 
he came here. I thought it was such a shame to 
get up such a story as that, I would not believe 
it.” 

‘‘ There he comes now, from that way too. See, 
Maud ! To-day is Saturday, isn’t it } They say she 
goes home again every Saturday.” 

‘‘Yes; that is he,” assented Maud, as the two 
girls stood at the window, peering out anxiously. 
“ I wonder what he will preach about to-morrow ? 
I declare, do you know sometimes I feel afraid to 
go to church now. He says things in such a way 
as if he was talking right to you, you know ; and it 
sometimes makes me feel so mean about little things 
I have done, that I feel just as if I wanted to 
throw everything up, and begin all over — being good, 
I mean.” 

“Yes,” said Nellie, looking at her friend, “so do 
I ; but the next minute I think how grand he looked 
when he said it.” 

“So do I ! ” responded Maud, with a leap of sym- 
pathy, such as starts between congenial friends when 
they suddenly find some new experience in common. 

Mr. Radcliffe was riding along blissfully uncon- 
cerned about what the young feminine portion of 
his congregation thought of him personally. 

As to there being any doubt that the spiritual in- 
terests of Milston drew him thither, he had not the 
first hint until, on this same night, the lady with 
whom he boarded, together with several others, all 


PASTORAI, WORK. 85 

single men, said to him after supper was over, when 
the others had gone : 

‘^You have quite an interest in Milston?’' 

^^Yes,” he answered with animation, there is 
quite an interest there ; but it is not due to my 

efforts alone. A young woman ” and he was 

going on, but she broke in, with a smile : 

‘‘Yes, I have heard of the young woman. We 
have some young women here who are interested in 
her. They have even called and asked me about 
her ; but I told them I did not know anything about 
her. You never said anything about her, nor any 
young women, in fact.” Here she broke forth into 
a laugh which was intended to be sympathetic. 

Ernest Radcliffe’s eyes were suddenly opened. 
While he had never acknowledged to himself that 
this young woman had any particular attraction for 
him, others had taken notice and had probably set 
him down as a devoted lover rather than a devoted 
pastor. Yet he could not be indignant any more 
than he could be amused ; but, with a queer look, 
he very soon went to his study, somewhat unusual 
for him, as he generally had a cordial chat with his 
landlady instead of going directly to his work. 

A fuller revelation dawned upon him that night, 
but the fulfillment of its promise was postponed, for 
a series of reasons which took shape and coloring 
from the circumstances under which he was placed. 

But whatever may have been the misunderstand- 
ing elsewhere, to Mrs. Parkes, at least, the minister’s 
visits seemed very kind and helpful ; and if she was 
concerned for anything aside from her personal in- 
terests, it was for the pastor’s cause. 


86 


EUNICE. 


At present, however, the chief desire of Mrs. 
Parkes, next to the wish for Celia's return, was that 
she might live to see Vina graduate, and afterward 
find a good, safe position to teach, where she would 
be under the immediate care of Eunice or Mrs. Ol- 
way. She felt that her own health was rather un- 
certain, as she had not been well for some time back. 
At last she secretly consulted a physician, who did 
not give much encouragement. This unpleasant 
fact she succeeded in concealing from Vina, but 
Eunice insisted that Mrs. Parkes should have treat- 
ment, and furnished the required means. 

Vina had already entered upon her last year in 
the high school, and had passed through the earlier 
stages of her preparation with a brilliancy that gave 
her a sort of eclat among her fellows. 

She took her compliments, however, with becom- 
ing modesty, never appearing to claim a favor be- 
cause of her attainments, although she might have 
received it for the asking ; for she was a favorite 
with her teachers. Moreover, her manner was un- 
obtrusive and naturally winning, especially with the 
young, and therefore her superiority did not make 
her, as it otherwise would, the disliked rival of her 
fellow-aspirants. 

But while she was acquainted with many she had 
few, if any, intimates. Her nature did not demand 
confidential friends to whom she could pour out the 
depths of her heart ; not that she was incapable of 
warm friendship, but she could live very agreeably 
on the surface with most people. 

‘^Oh! I like them all,” she , would say when 
questioned as to who was her best friend among the 


PASTORAI. WORK. 


87 


girls. If she was pressed, she would answer with a 
mischievous smile, don’t know.” Were the boys 
mentioned, she would speak kindly of some, and 
laughingly criticise others. As to Miss Olway, 
Vina really loved her; and, although consciously 
unable to comprehend her benefactor, she gave her 
the more reverence. 

When Dora once suddenly asked, ‘‘Vina, which 
do you love best. Auntie Eunie or grandma ? ” and 
would not be evaded, Vina had to confess : 

“ Body, I don’t know. When we go to Milston, 
I love Aunt Eunice most ; but when you and Holly 
go to bed at night, it is grandma.” But she could 
not explain it, except by a funny little fairy story, 
which succeeded in making Dora forget her ques- 
tion. 

The children were accustomed to frequently in- 
quire into the present status of family affection. 
Sometimes Dora loved grandma a “ hundred pounds,” 
and Aunt Eunice a “ hundred and one,” or vice versa. 
Mamma and papa never went above the even hun- 
dred. Hollis, however, loved them “all together” 
“two hundred pounds”; but papa, he “o’ course 
loved one hundred all by hisself.” He should be 
“like papa” himself, some day. 

Vina’s hour with Dora and Hollis had come to be 
a fixed arrangement in the household. The children 
were greatly disappointed whenever an exception 
occurred, and Vina herself felt that something was 
lacking. Who knows what the constant companion- 
ship of children may do toward molding a filial and 
loving character } 

Not long after Vina had started on her last school 


88 


EUNICE. 


year, Mrs. Parkes rented a part of her house, in 
order to bring in an extra sum, and also for the 
comfort of having somebody in the house to speak 
to,” when she grew lonesome. But she found, after 
all, that her neighbors were not an absolute safe- 
guard against ^^the blues.” 

^^The blues” was a phrase by which she charac- 
terized the times when she wondered and wondered 
what had become of Celia ; when she tried to think 
how she had done a ‘‘wrong to the child to make 
her turn out so,” for she had come to the conclusion 
that some way she had been to blame. She learned 
this, not from any open suggestion that had been 
made to her, but inferentially from the character 
and life of Miss Olway. 

“Yes; I see now, I didn’t do my duty by Celia. 
I never did my duty to anybody,” she once said, 
while the tears of sorrow ran down her cheeks. 

This habit of talking aloud to herself was easily 
acquired by being alone in the house. 

“ I was her mother, and I ought to have watched 
more, and talked more, about God and religion. 
But I did talk sometimes; yes, I remember. No; 
talking would not do it ; it was living, and I did not 
do that. I did not know how, then. O God, have 
mercy upon me, and bring her home ; oh, bring her 
back, O God, and help me to do as I ought to do 
now to them who are near me. Then maybe thou 
wilt see that I mean it, and wilt make it right 
again some way.” 

After such outpourings as these, she always felt 
a peace through the sense of pardon, and a faint 
hope that after all it would come out right in the 


PASTORAI, WORK. 


89 


end. With this assurance she would throw off those 
‘^wicked blues,” and think about doing something 
^^a little extra ” against the time of the girl’s com- 
ing ; or perhaps she would think about her neigh- 
bors, saying to herself, I guess I will run out and 
make a call if somebody does not drop in pretty 
quick.” 

She had commenced to attend the Bible-class 
with the girls of late, and was becoming greatly in- 
terested in studying the lessons. Miss Olway 
finally persuaded her to take a class in Sunday- 
school, and this, together with the reading which 
she did, occupied the most of her spare time. 

Mr. Radcliffe used to bring books to her, and 
talk them over with her afterward. In fact, he 
started a reading circle in the neighborhood. Its 
meetings were held occasionally on an afternoon, 
and Mr. Radcliffe planned to be present just often 
enough to keep them aware of his interest. He was 
almost surprised to note how enthusiastic all seemed 
to be over the circle. 

^‘Yet why am I surprised that people with 
capacities and hungerings should eagerly devour 
the supplies which those endowments crave ! ” he 
asked himself. ‘‘ Bodily powers increase with use, 
why not mental .? ” 

It was not long after he came to Milston, before 
Mr. Radcliffe saw that there ought to be a church 
edifice there. The work demanded it. To bring 
this about must be one of his aims ; and many 
months had not passed before this same idea sprang 
up in other minds. 

Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 


90 


EUNICE. 


speaketh.” The suggestion was made through ser- 
mons, social calls, and ways we know not of ; and 
the Milston people took it up as a proposition they 
had not thought of before, but as worth consider- 
ing.” 

A strong religious influence had come to the 
people, especially the younger ones. It did not 
come with a sudden sweep as a deluge, but quietly 
and gradually like the rising tide. Yet its power 
was no less great ; and as Ernest Radcliffe was 
meditating one evening before his window, shadowy 
forms were before him, and the dominant one of 
them all had the proportions of a church*. 

It was not strange that Mrs. Parkes too had an 
interest in the new enterprise. She and Mr. Rad- 
cliffe conversed freely on the subject, and she con- 
fided to her pastor her intention to ‘‘help it along*' 
all she could. A definite plan occurred to her, but 
she did not divulge it until after consultation with 
Miss Olway. But as the latter heartily approved 
of the scheme, the carrying out of the same not only 
served to employ the time Mrs. Parkes could spare 
from her sewing, but also helped to spread over 
Milston that pleasant excitement which always at- 
tends a common social interest. The plan was as 
follows : She would invite the women, old and 
young, to a sewing circle at her house some after- 
noon, asking them to bring refreshments ; the men 
would be invited to come to supper and spend the 
evening. While the women were chatting over 
their work she would give them her ideas and 
arouse them to the desire to decide upon some plan 
for the church that would “ astound and nettle the 


PASTORAL WORK. 9 1 

men folks,” and eventually force them to action in 
order to ^^keep up their end” of reputation. 

When the occasion came, Mrs. Parkes expressed 
herself as sure that the men would help if Mr. Rad- 
cliffe, as she knew he would, gave his sanction to 
the plan ; they would not depend upon raising the 
money by ‘‘sewing bees” and “fairs” alone, but 
each member of every family should be requested 
to give an amount of money, whether small or great, 
in the name of some friend or relative who had 
died, thus erecting a common monument to the 
memory of their departed loved ones ; and, more- 
over, that each man or woman who felt that he or 
she had neglected a clear duty in some particular, 
and was troubled by it, should also measure his or 
her regret by a self-denial gift. 

As an inducement to a woman’s fund, Mrs. Parkes 
gave them the delightful information that some one 
had already pledged a gift of five hundred dollars, as 
a “nest egg.” She put the final touch to her argu- 
ment by saying : 

“ Who knows what the men will do, if the women 
will only start ? ” 

Within the last year, Mrs. Parkes had become 
intensely interested in all religious enterprises, and 
even gave very liberally because of her self-denial. 
She seemed to have one great aim — to atone for 
some former deficiency ; and this, doubtless, gave 
coloring to her “ plan.” She once said as much to 
Mr. Radcliffe. He was greatly surprised when she 
told him of the five hundred dollars. It was Miss 
Olway’s gift, and Mrs. Parkes disclosed the fact be- 
fore she thought. 


93 


EUNICK. 


Eunice will be very sorry,” she added, after 
the disclosure. What ails me ? ” 

It shall remain a secret, as it is Miss Olway's 
wish,” he replied. ^‘But it is very noble of her.” 

‘‘ Noble ! of course it’s noble ; but that’s only 
another way of spelling ^ Eunice.’ ” 

True ! ” he answered, amused at her saying. 

In fact. Miss Olway hesitated some time before 
deciding to use the money in this way. 

You know, mother, five hundred dollars seemed 
so much at first for my singing ! ” Eunice had 
always sung in her own church freely and gladly ; 
but after other choirs had sought her, and she had 
refused a generous salary, her own people offered 
her the above-named sum a year. She would have 
refused that, but her mothar said : Y ou owe every- 
thing that is in your voice, money and all, to the 
Master. You can use the money more wisely, per- 
haps, than they.” And this had decided her. 
Then they had to consider how the money should 
be used. 

There is the church at Milston — but then, Vina 
graduates from the high school in June, and I have 
been thinking about her going to college. 

Yes ; I know,” responded her mother; ^^but I 
think, dear, that it will be better for Vina to teach, 
or do something for herself for a year or two. 

It seems just so to me, mother. Then it shall 
go to the church at Milston.” 

So this was the way Mrs. Parkes’ plan was to 
have such a substantial aid. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE MISSIONARY TEA. • 

When love is strong 
It never tarries to take heed, 

Or know if its return exceed 
Its gift ; in its sweet haste no greed, 
No strifes belong. 


H. H. 


HILE a healthful excitement was quickening 



VV the sluggish blood of country veins, a sensa- 
tion of the feverish, baneful sort was appealing to 
the already sated appetite of an obtrusive element 
of humanity, in a certain large city, a good many 
miles from Milston. To be sure, it was only 
‘‘another crime,” worked up into a new combination 
of horrors, by the reporters for the sensational 
press. Heartless as it may sound, it was only 
another crime, a small dark speck in that teeming 
cesspool of wickedness, darkest New York. Yet 
there were peculiarities about this, which remained 
after the first glaring colors had been erased by 
lapse of time. 

The crime was a murder, and it was caused by a 
woman ; but the woman, whose husband had been 
shot by her avowed lover, acted a part to save her 
own life, and then played treason at the right time 
to hand the criminal over to the police. A few 


93 


94 


EUNICE. 


days later, the man escaped from prison, and could 
not be tracked ; neither could the woman. 

Another horrible thing ! said Mrs. Garton 
Olway to her husband, as she laid aside a New 
York daily paper. It was early evening, and Gar- 
ton was looking over several other dailies, with the 
discriminating eye of an editor. 

He did not appear to hear her, until she added : 

‘‘ I pity the woman if she ever encounters him 
again ! ” 

‘‘ Upon whom are you lavishing all that expen- 
sive pity } ” asked the husband, looking up lovingly 
at his wife. 

Oh, Garton ! here I have been talking 

At least two minutes.” 

'^Five, I am sure,” she insisted, rising and play- 
fully pinching his ears, “ and all you heard was the 
word ^pity.’ Editors don’t have to be in their dens 
to be undisturbed.” 

‘‘ By angels coming unawares, and tweaking their 
ears,” he supplemented, throwing down his papers, 
and smiling at her. I am anxious to entertain 
such visitors when I have the opportunity. It is 
not often they come fluttering into my den, and 
brushing their wings against my pen and scissors. 
They are afraid of being stabbed or cut in two, I 
guess, or else they are not so nimble as the sylphs 
in ‘Rape of the Lock.’ You remember.^” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” she answered. “ I shall never forget 
the evening you read that to me. You seemed to 
take the part of the fairies so devotedly.” 

“ Don’t I do it just as devotedly now, you little 
siren ” he broke in. 


THE MISSIONARY TEA. 


95 


Oh, but Carton!” she replied, ‘‘you were a 
perfect sylph or brownie that night. Indeed I 
simply could not count you, you were so many ; you 
fairly swarmed about me I Now you are a man, 
just as devoted of course, but a great big human 
man, so big that you almost frighten me some- 
times.” 

Carton burst into the heartiest peal of laughter 
the dining-room walls had witnessed in some time. 
It had the reverberations of cumulative mirth. He 
lifted her upon his knee, and looked at her as one 
would at an exquisite wax doll that had suddenly 
spoken an epigram. Then shaking her playfully, 
he said : 

“ Wifie I the beauty has turned the wit. That 
was the archest piece of drollery I ever heard,” and 
his face flushed with love’s admiration. 

Then changing his tone he added : “ Precious 

little girl ! I have turned out very human, I should 
say. Life is not quite such a fairy tale as we 
once so fondly imagined, is it dear.^ But it is 
sweeter far to me than my dream ever was — the 
reality, I mean.” 

“ I guess it is,” she answered, soberly. “ And I 
believe I have found out that it is not less sweet 
when life is not all taken up with style and com- 
pany if ” 

He pressed her to his bosom, and silenced her 
lips with his own. There was also a strange soft 
light in his eyes. 

“ Well, dearie, I must run down to the offlce 
awhile to give orders to the men, and see that all is 
right,” Carton said, after a few moments. “ You 


96 


EUNICE. 


do not expect any callers to-night, eh ? Then why 
not step in and see mother a minute until I come 
back?’’ 

That reminds me I must talk it over with 
mother and Eunice. They want to have a mission- 
ary tea here, and I told them I would open all our 
rooms too, and make a real thing of it.” 

That is right, wifie. Was not mother pleased, 
though ? ” he asked, with evident pleasure. 

Well, you seem to be glad too, Garton. I did 
not know how you would like a missionary tea, with 
all those chtfirch people here— and a program and 
all.” 

When mother is president ? ” he queried, with 
surprise. 

Of course ! I did not think of that.” 

Don’t I always submit gracefully to five o’clock 
teas and receptions for you ? ” he asked, mischiev- 
ously. 

But they are all cultured people,” she remon- 
strated, intimating that the church tea would not 
bring a select company. 

All ? ” he responded, with a peculiar emphasis. 

^ A man’s a man for a’ that,’ you know.” 

To be sure. I did not mean that ; but literary 
men like you ” 

Should be catholic and humble,” he interpolated, 
finishing her sentence for her, as he stepped into 
the hall. Arrange it all, dear, witli your best 
skill, and see what an adherent I shall be.” 

Garton always makes fun of my parties, although 
he never objects. But he seemed really to approve 
of this. I wonder if he would have liked these 


THE MISSIONARY TEA. 97 

things better all along.” It was apparently a new 
idea to her. 

‘‘ If any one conies to-night, I shall not be in,” 
she said to Mollie, the maid, before going into the 
other part of the house. 

She found Vina with Eunice and her mother in 
the private sitting room. There were a few coals 
glowing on the grate, for the air was chill and gave 
a cheeriness to the evening group. Samson, the 
large Maltese cat, was on the sofa, purring, under 
the mesmeric influence of Vina’s strokes. Eunice 
sat at the table writing, and Mrs. Olway was hem- 
ming what looked like a child’s garment. 

‘^Why, Lena, my dear!” the latter said, looking 
up, brightly; ‘‘here is just the place for you.” She 
reached out for a softly cushioned willow rocker 
near by. “ See I it has been waiting for you.” 

“Yes, mother, this is the cosy, wee chair,” Lena 
said, snuggling her shapely figure in its depths, and 
revealing one daintily slippered foot. 

“ Garton has just gone down to the office, and I 
thought I would come in and talk over the tea to- 
night, if you have nothing important on hand.” 

“The ladies are just delighted about having 
the house all open. I think we will have a crowd ; 
but you will not mind } ” She spoke a little hesi- 
tatingly. 

“ Oh, certainly not I Do you know I believe 
Garton is really pleased over it, and I think he in- 
tends to be here in the evening.” 

Eunice said : “ How delightful I ” and her mother’s 
eyes shone. 

Then Vina interjected : “ How some of those peo- 

G 


98 


EUNICE. 


pie will admire your beautiful curios and things. It 
will be as good as the Metropolitan to them.” She 
appeared to be amused by the thought ; but her 
notion of the Metropolitan had been gained by read- 
ing. 

Vina had a keen appreciation of the taste and 
bric-a-brac displayed on the other side of the house. 

Would you need to have all my silver.^” asked 
Lena. 

‘‘ I had not thought of that,” Eunice answered, 
inwardly surprised that Lena should offer it. ‘‘ No, 
I think not. What do you say, mother ? ” 

Just as you two think about those things. It 
will not make any difference. Yet on the whole, it 
might be better not to make too great a display. 
But it is good of you to offer it, Lena. I know how 
you prize your silver.” 

Garton asked me to plan my prettiest in a way 
that makes me want to use the best I have. So you 
may use anything I have that you like.” 

‘‘Thank you, sister; it is very kind and unsel- 
fish,” said Eunice, with warmth ; for she knew that 
it was something of a trial to Lena to open her 
treasures to such ordinary inspection. 

She continued : “ I think, as mother says, it 
would be better not to bring out too much. It 
might dazzle them you know, and besides, some 
harm might come to your things with so many here. 
And then,” she said, smiling, “we do not want to 
distract their minds from missions too much, either, 
you know.” 

She did not wish Lena to see how absurd it ap- 
peared to her that people who were interested in 


THK MISSIONARY TEA. 


99 


missions should not be at all familiar with fine pic- 
tures and cut-glass. Some of their most devoted 
members were wealthy and cultured women. So 
she went on without pausing : 

I think we had better seat them for refresh- 
ments in your dining room. Yours accommodates 
so many more chairs. Then, Lena, you arrange the 
center-table to your taste, not too gorgeous, but 
dainty and artistic, just as you always have it for 
ordinary company. You are such an adept at that, 
you know ; you can make a perfect bower out of the 
commonest flowers and vines.” 

“What will you do for waiters.^ Use the ser- 
vants.” 

“ No, we have some young girls who are always 
willing to do such work. Vina is going to be one 
of the waiters.” 

“ We are to dress in colors, and wear pretty white 
aprons and caps,” remarked Vina, giving Samson an 
extra patting on the back, which resulted in a more 
sonorous purr, supplemented by a vigorous sneeze. 

“About the program queried Lena. 

“ That will begin at eight o’clock,” answered 
Mrs. Olway, “and will occupy about an hour. 
There will be music ; and Dr. Greene is to make a 
short address, and Vina will give a recitation.” 

“Indeed!” said Lena, looking at Vina; “and 
does Eunice sing } ” 

“Once,” Mrs. Olway replied; “but Eunice is so 
busy, you know. It is almost too bad to ask her 
for that, but the ladies insisted.” 

“I have a compliment for Eunice,” Lena ejacu- 
lated. “ Mr. Winthrop — and he is quite a judge of 


100 


EUNICE. 


music, you know — said that the quality of my sister's 
voice is rare. ‘ Her singing voice, as compared with 
her speaking voice,’ he said, ‘ is like apples of gold 
in pictures of silver.’ Now, wasn’t that compli- 
mentary ? I told him I would tell you, although he 
begged me not to mention his name. He appears 
to be a warm admirer of my sister-in-law,” she 
added, looking bewitchingly mischievous. By the 
way, mother, may I ask a few of my friends on 
Thursday night ? Mr. Winthrop seemed so inter- 
ested when I mentioned the tea, that I asked him 
to come, jokingly you know ; but he took it seriously 
and said he would be delighted. I thought after- 
ward that perhaps I had done wrong, but I was 
trapped before I knew it.” 

She waited for Mrs. Olway to reply. 

‘‘ Certainly, Lena ; any of your friends. We 
shall be glad of their presence and interest. It 
may open the eyes of some,” she added to herself. 

Of course I shall be obliged to ask two or 
three others. It would look so odd, having Rich- 
ard alone,” Lena returned, with a bright smile. 

Richard Winthrop was a rising young lawyer, 
who belonged to one of the most aristocratic fami- 
lies in the city. As a family, the Winthrops were 
not wealthy, but had been prominent in public life. 
They would be numbered among the elite — the 
favored ^Tour hundred.” Richard’s grandfather 
had been a senator, and one of his ancestors a 
governor, and it was thought by his intimate 
friends that Richard himself had political ambi- 
tions. But he had a stainless reputation, and most 
people would have been glad to see such an honor- 


THE MISSIONARY TEA. 


lOI 


able young man in a responsible position of State. 
He was also a scholar and quite a musical critic, as 
Lena intimated ; in short, a polished gentleman, 
whose fastidious tastes revealed the instincts of 
genuine refinement. His ancestral church was the 
Episcopalian, but his own religious views, apart 
from his love of the beautiful in nature and art, 
were those of the humanitarian, with a natural drift 
toward optimism. He was in danger of espousing 
the ‘‘worship of humanity,” rather than falling into 
the contempt of mankind, which is the curse of the 
misanthrope. 

Thursday was one of those beautiful autumn days, 
when rich, mellow colors in tree and vine greet the 
eye soothingly, even in the city, and the air is in- 
toxicating, as if a quaff of some fine old vintage 
had quickened the spiritualized senses. 

A few of the women came early in order to con- 
sult the president about some prospective work, and 
to be on hand if there was anything to be done, as 
there often is at the last minute. But at five o’clock, 
people fairly streamed into the halls. 

Vina had never before been so important a per- 
sonage amid the pleasant excitements of a social 
occasion. Now she was the center of a throng of 
questioning girls, all in gay-colored gowns and be- 
decked with caps and aprons, ready to flit about like 
butterflies, when the proper time came. And very 
attractive they looked, as they swarmed before their 
hive, the dining room, where among the flowers 
that bloomed on the table, or hovered in the se- 
cluded niches beneath festoons of smilax, any bee 


102 


EUNICE. 


might have been tempted to go in search of dewy 
nectar. 

Mrs. Olway, the president of the society, was a 
noble-looking woman, as she moved from one group 
to another, with genial dignity. There was some- 
thing about her face, and especially in her large 
hazel eyes, that immediately won all hearts, old and 
young ; and when the charm of her voice was added, 
she might command and all would obey. 

Mrs. Garton Olway was a perfect hostess by 
nature and training, and now that she was enter- 
taining for missions, she was just as charmingly 
gracious as she could have been at any high tea or 
aristocratic reception. 

Eunice was everywhere by turn ; now speaking 
to an elderly gentleman who could not hear much,” 
but liked to ‘‘watch the young,” and now encircled 
by a group of little girls, who clasped her waist, or 
held her hand with adoring eagerness. All loved 
her, and in truth, it was a pleasure to watch her 
fine womanly figure move in and out, untangling, as 
it were, the confused mass of forms, and re-combin- 
ing them into congenial groups. 

“ Her face speaks more than most young persons 
ever say,” said one middle-aged gentleman to an- 
other, after Eunice had passed them with a word. 

“Yes; she has her mother’s face, only less ma- 
ture.” 

“ I believe you are right, but I had not thought 
of it before.” 

Eunice had a way of appearing to be interested in 
every one. She was an attentive listener, and always 
said the right thing at the right time. It was not 


THE MISSIONARY TEA. 


103 


that she had so much tact, but that she was always 
true to the promptings of sympathy. Thus she 
never offended by harshness or indelicacy. 

Garton appeared before the programme began, 
and added to the pleasure of the gentlemen. He 
felt sorry for men who were entertained where there 
was no host. It seemed to him that they never 
could feel quite at ease. Garton himself was a 
favorite with the ladies, notwithstanding the fact, 
and perhaps for the very reason, that he paid most 
attention to his own sex. 

Lena had previously warned her husband that she 
had invited Mr. Winthrop and a few others, so that 
he might be aware of his duty toward them. He 
was greatly amused when she told him how Mr. 
Winthrop had come to be invited, and particularly 
when she said : 

‘‘ I think Eunice has something to do with his 
coming. I really believe she is the attraction, and 
I hope you will encourage it. Think how lovely 
such a thing would be ! 

Such a thing as Richard ? ” he asked, innocently. 

Y ou know what I mean ; and if only Eunice 
would fall in love once, she would not use herself up 
so over missions and Sunday-schools. Now, Gar- 
ton, if you don’t see that they get together at the 
tea, I shall ! ” 

It was quite unpremeditated, however, that Gar- 
ton formally presented Mr. Winthrop to his mother, 
and later to Eunice. 

‘‘ I have had the honor of meeting Miss Olway 
before,” he said, and then it flashed across Garton 
what his wife had wished. 


104 


EUNICE. 


will politely leave them soon,’' he said to him- 
self, thinking how obedient he was. 

He got away very easily, for Mr. Winthrop was 
so preoccupied that he hardly noticed Garton after 
the introduction. 

I don’t know but there is something in it. 
Women see so straight,” he mentally commented, 
as he made his way toward his objective point. 

Meanwhile Mr. Winthrop and Eunice were con- 
versing with mutual interest. Eunice blushed 
slightly at first, as Lena’s words occurred to her ; 
but she was soon herself again, and really enjoyed 
what Mr. Winthrop was saying on entirely imper- 
sonal grounds. Eunice could not be self-conscious 
long at a time, for she was too whole-souled. 

They had drifted into the subject of art, as they 
were looking at one of Millet’s pictures, which 
Richard Winthrop recognized. 

I have no idea of real art,” said Eunice, ‘^though 
I enjoy some pictures. I remember one that I saw 
in the Metropolitan, ‘The Snowstorm,’ I think it 
was called. I do not recall the artist. There were 
the poor, frightened sheep, huddled together in the 
blinding snowstorm, and you could almost heat the 
wolves howling. The shepherd had deserted them ! ” 
There was a softness in her eyes, and her lips quiv- 
ered with emotion. 

“ Like the trembling of a lute,” Richard Win- 
throp thought, as he looked at her with admiration. 
^‘Yes, I remember that picture,” he said, aloud; 
“ but I did not catch your impression. I see you 
have the true appreciation. Such an enjoyment is 
beyond me.” 


THK MISSIONARY TEA. 105 

No ; there was no mistaking him. He was not 
making fun of her. 

‘‘ I have no appreciation at all ! It is only that a 
picture sometimes teaches me some beautiful truth. 
I am impressed more with that than with the skill 
of the artist.” 

That is where you have the true idea of art, and 
of appreciating it,” he rejoined. ‘‘It is the same 
with music. Those who feel a truth, really under- 
stand music, while those who merely hear sounds, 
have not even a conception of it.” 

“I see the force of that,” she answered, earn- 
estly. “Music appeals to me more than painting.” 

Just then they were hushed by some one trying 
to silence the hum of voices, and when it was com- 
paratively quiet, Eunice heard her mother announc- 
ing the programme. 

“ There will be opening prayer — our pastor.” 

After the prayer, Eunice felt a trifle uneasy. She 
just remembered that she had to sing, and to assist 
about one or two other matters relating to the en- 
tertainment ; but she was not needed until after 
the address. However, after Lena’s remarks, she 
felt embarrassed about excusing herself on the* 
ground that she was to take part. But she could 
not find any other excuse that seemed adequate, 
and before she had determined what to say, a musi- 
cal number was announced, a piano solo, and they 
both listened in silence. As it concluded, he re- 
marked : 

•‘ Shall you favor us to-night ? ” 

This was her opportunity. 

“ Yes, I have a little part, and for that reason, I 


I 06 EUNICE. 

am obliged to excuse myself. Let me take you to 
my sister. There ! she sees you.'' 

So saying she led the way to Lena, who was 
moving about quietly, on duty as hostess. The 
latter had evidently not intended to interrupt them, 
but of course greeted Mr. Winthrop with cordial 
grace, as Eunice explained that she must go. 

I saw you chatting so agreeably, that I did not 
have the heart to disturb you," Lena said, as soon 
as Eunice left them. 

Your sister is very interesting, to speak moder- 
erately," he answered, frankly avowing his admira- 
tion. 

You really think so ? " she asked, archly. She 
had known him ever since he was a boy, as their 
families lived side by side. ‘‘ Did she tell you about 
the Bible-class at Milston, or the work in the city 
missions ^ " 

Does she do all that } " he inquired, with sur- 
prise. 

Oh, that is not a quarter ! " she answered, laugh- 
ing. ‘‘ But of course she would not speak of it ; 
Eunice never lets her right hand know what her 
left hand does." 

There had been a short intermission between the 
numbers, but now a reading was announced. It 
was a spicy rhum^ of the latest missionary news 
from various fields, and ended with a suggestion of 
the possibilties that might be realized, if only more 
funds and workers could be had. 

Mrs. Olway made a remark now and then in a 
low whisper. They were standing in a remote cor- 
ner — and quite unobserved. 


THE MISSIONARY TEA. 


107 


More music followed from the violin, with piano 
accompaniment. Then came the address. It was 
a short, stirring appeal for missions, based upon 
his clearest-cut argument, and delivered with the 
enthusiasm which Dr. Greene always put into his 
oratorical efforts. 

Mr. Winthrop had never heard him before. He 
really thought him a very effective speaker, though 
he could not understand the need of so much en- 
thusiasm, except that from an artistic point of view 
it certainly made a better speech. 

It was then that Eunice sang. The song was 
sacred, and just suited to her voice. It was from 
an oratorio ; but coming as it did after the stirring 
address, its effect upon the audience was wonderful. 
Eunice sang it from the depth of her heart, and 
the music seem to thrill with the missionary spirit. 
The strains of the finale were prophetic of the time 
when the earth shall be filled with the glory of the 
Lord, as the waters cover the sea.’* 

When the sounds ceased, there was a subdued 
hush, and many a heart that had become almost 
discouraged by the wayside bounded with new hope. 

Richard Winthrop was astonished and silenced. 
He had not expected to be affected in this way. 
He was almost inclined to believe that it was all 
coming true, and that it was fitting that we should 
be in earnest. Indeed, he could not separate him- 
self from the spell of the combined influence — the 
talk with Eunice, the address, and now Eunice’s 
song. 

It was marvelous — glorious ! ” he found himself 
saying to his hostess. 


io8 


EUNICE. 


Mrs. Garton Olway too was impressed, and 
answered simply, Yes, Eunice puts her whole soul 
into whatever she sings.’' 

Vina’s recitation next demanded attention. 

She is such a bright little thing,” one of the 
members remarked afterward. 

The piece was pathetic, disclosing the needs of 
a poor heathen family, and their groping after light, 
which came at last, to the relief of the listeners. 
For the scene was as vivid as life, as might be 
expected by those who knew Vina’s marvelous 
power of impersonation. 

‘^That little girl is Eunice’s and a won- 
derfully clever child. It is really quite remark- 
able,” said Mrs. Garton Olway to Mr. Winthrop. 

He asked one or two interested questions, but 
was not so communicative as was his wont with 
her. 

‘‘ He is surely falling in love with Eunice ! ” 
Lena thought, forgiving his unusual silence. 

The collection plates were now passed, and they 
had never returned to the stand more heavily laden 
than on that night. Richard Winthrop felt glad 
of some avenue of relief, and put in a generous 
contribution. 

The last number was a hymn, in which all were 
invited to join, and then the murmuring of voices 
became general. The flocks of gay creatures, 
known as the waiters,” disappeared behind scenes, 
and a gradual movement toward the dining room^ 
ensued. 

The guests had to enter in sections, as all could 
not be seated at once ; but the hostesses made 


THE MISSIONARY TEA. IO9 

themselves so agreeable to all, that the transition 
to and from the dining hall produced a pleasant cir- 
culation of sociability. 

Mr. Winthrop saw Eunice only a few moments 
again before he took his leave, for she had been so 
occupied in entertaining others, especially the 
strangers who had been induced to come, but who 
evidently were not accustomed to being entertained 
so gracefully. 

One of these drew from her much pity, mingled 
with amusement. Eunice felt as if she was trying 
to make acquaintance with one of Dicken’s char- 
acters — a queer, dwarfish, bobbing Miss June, 
whom nobody appeared to know. She was so 
small and insignificant-appearing that, paradoxical 
as it may seem, every one noticed her, and won- 
dered who she might be. 

Certainly not a friend of the Olways, for 
Eunice asked me about her,” said one. 

What a fussy, jealous-eyed little thing she is,” 
murmured another, a young woman who was noted 
for bluntness ; she is either morose, or stupidly 
conceited. I tried to talk to her, but she winked 
and hesitated so I feared I should laugh in her 
face.” 

‘‘ Hush ! ” said her companion, but added after- 
ward, with restrained laughter, ‘‘Jane, you are too 
voluble with adjectives.” 

In truth, Eunice was not anxious to meet Mr. 
Winthrop after her solo. She did not expect him 
to compliment her — she. read him too clearly for that ; 
but she felt that it might be embarrassing. How- 
ever, she did not deliberately evade Lena’s efforts 


no 


EUNICE. 


to bring them together again. Indeed, she did not 
even perceive that Lena was making an effort. 

Mr. Winthrop had paid his addresses to Mrs. 
Olway, and now stood, hat in hand with Lena and 
Eunice, in the broad hall, which at that time was 
almost deserted. 

You have made the evening so delightful,” he 
was saying, looking at both, ‘‘that I had entirely 
forgotten another engagement.” 

Then with a few more words, he had bidden them 
good-night and was gone. 

“What a perfect gentleman he is,” said Lena, 
without looking at Eunice. “Not a hint of a dude, 
but only of inborn gentility,” she went on. “ I am 
prouder of him every day.” 

Some one else came up to say good-night, and 
when they had begun to go, they went as they had 
come — “in streams.” 

“ It has been a great success,” was the general 
verdict. 

“ Of course it would be, for the Olways are so 
lovely,” declared Mrs. Josiah Browne. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


LIFE AT MILSTON. 


Blessed are the missionaries of cheerfulness. 

— Lydia Maria Child, 

IFE still goes on in the same old way, even after 



JLy a great vacancy has occurred in the home, 
either because of the death of some loved one or 
because a dear one has gone away, not so very far 
perhaps, but still gone out into a new life from 
which he will never return to the old life, just as it 
was before. The daily round of duties does not 
change much. A few new cares are added, as the 
old ones slip off ; but there is a sameness about the 
course of humble, domestic life which sometimes 
seems the persistency of a cruel taskmaster, but 
oftener proves to be the safety rope to which we 
cling when the great waves come so unexpectedly 
as to overwhelm us while we were seeking only the 
pleasure of a summer’s day. 

Mrs. Harriet Blake had been thinking on this 
wise as she sat by the window mending, after her 
work was done. 

James has been away now seven months and 
two weeks. How empty the house feels even yet ! 
I wonder if I am sorry I encouraged him in it.” 
But her heart quickly answered, ''No ! ” 

She remembered how keen her sorrow was when 


HI 


EUNICE. 


II2 

she had kissed her boy over and over again a cheer- 
ful good-bye, filling up each minute with loving 
words of advice and warning, lest they should all 
break down,” and make James’ going unbearable; 
how, when he had mounted the wagon with his 
father, and the trunk was on, and nothing was miss- 
ing, the horse started of his own accord, because 
the poor father could not speak a word ; and how, 
as they were passing out of the gate, James turned 
once more and waved his handkerchief, feigning 
cheerfulness. 

That was a solemn time, and the heaviness that 
fell upon her heart as she shut the door alone, had 
never quite left her, but hung, as it were, a sus- 
pended weight which might fall with a recurring 
thought. But whatever sorrow might be within, 
she never allowed its gloom upon her face. Her 
expression was even now cheerful, although there 
was none to see ; but she knew very well that it is 
the habitual look which remains, and the effect of 
an indulgent moment that appears unawares. 

Her bosom swelled with pride as she thought of 
the advancement her boy was making. 

‘^To be sure he is studying hard ; but his consti- 
tution is good, and hard thinking will not hurt any- 
one if he has good, common sense about eating and 
sleeping. Then James is so certain of his work 
now. It is a comfort to have it settled, even if it 
is going to take a good deal of preparation.” 

As she skillfully drew the needle in and out, her 
mind turned upon the father, who had necessitated 
all this ingenuity of mending. 

He has worried less about the boy since he 


AT MITSTON. 


II3 

came home last than ever before. After he gave 
up his being a farmer he has settled down. Poor 
father/' she added, it was a hard thing to give it 
up. But he found he was rowing against the 
stream. I saw that from the time James was a 
little boy." 

John Blake just then came into the kitchen, and 
his heavy boots made a loud noise on the bare floor. 
He was always a heavy stepper. 

‘^John plants his feet as he plants his corn — 
deep," she said to herself, smiling at her own joke. 

But all his little foibles were dear to her, even 
his fretting. 

It gave her a chance to be jubilant ^‘not all for 
nothing either." She received her dearest joy from 
smoothing out the wrinkles on his brow, and mak- 
ing him say at last, with a smile, ‘‘ Well, maybe it 
will come out right, Harriet. What would I do 
without you } " 

Once she answered : You would bear it alone, 
I suppose, whereas now you bear it with me." He 
did not see the pun, as she was sure he would not, 
so she enjoyed it by herself. 

James did not take after his mother in seeing the 
funny side ; but neither did he favor his father’s 
habit of .borrowing trouble. 

To-day, when she heard her husband’s step, Mrs. 
Blake threw down her work, and hurried as fast as 
she could to the kitchen. John might have a letter 
from James. Sure enough, he held it up as soon 
as she opened the door, and she almost ran to take 
it from his hand. It was directed to her this time. 
James took turns in addressing the envelopes, 
H 


EUNICE. 


II4 

although inside the letter always began, ‘‘ Dear 
mother and father.” 

Tearing it open as eagerly as a young girl with a 
love letter, she began reading aloud, while John 
was wiping his hands on the crash towel : 

‘‘ ^ I can picture you, mother, sitting by the win- 
dow until you hear father, and then rushing out to 
get this, in which I could not disappoint you, even 
at the risk of a flunk (you know what that is). I 
am terribly busy now ; but I could not study a mite 
until I wrote this letter. 

‘‘ ‘ Deep in logic now, and political economy. 
Like them pretty well, but mathematics is the best. 
That is simply grand. I could pore over problems 
forever, and not get tired — but they do not take me 
so long as other things : Latin, for instance ; and 
Greek I never could endure, I know. George (my 
room-mate) showed me his Greek text the other 
day, and the very sight made me dizzy. Although, 
after all, it is no worse, if as bad, as German. But 
you remember, I used the English text in my 
German. 

' Chemistry is fun, especially the practical part 
in the laboratory. You recollect how I always 
liked to fuss around with jars and bottles ; I used to 
play I had drugs and medicines in them. I was a 
great doctor in those days. I hope I shall make as 
good a one in reality. 

^ George is writing home also since I began. 
You see the force of example. George is a good 
fellow ; we get on finely ; he is just the one for me. 
He wakes me up, you know, as you used to mother, 
by giving me a good talking to. I see now how 


I.IFK AT MITSTON. 


I15 

. sadly I miss your words, mother, and your laugh ; 
and I often feel even yet, that I ought to get ready 
to go out behind the team with father.’ ” 

Here Harriet stopped a moment, looking up at 
her husband. 

wish it could be so, as he says,” said John. 
I am lonesome with the team now.” 

Not with Tom ; not very lonesome. Tom talks 
so much, you would hardly have time,” she replied, 
trying to put the best side out. 

Oh, yes ; but go on, see what he says next.” 

She went on reading : 

‘ But I do not have much time to meditate, 
except on Sundays. Then we do just think. I 
have told you about our preacher, and how we 
spend Sundays, haven’t I } Mr. Radcliffe sent a 
letter to our minister here, telling him very kindly 
about me, I am sure, from the splendid way he 
treats me. You know he is a new man, since last 
vacation, but Mr. Radcliffe happened to know him. 

^‘Ht is just like Mr. Radcliffe to start a reading 
circle there. Of course it is a splendid thing, and 
I know how you, mother, must enjoy it, and father 
too. It takes up your time, I hope, so you do not 
miss me so much. It is a God-send just now. But 
I shall have to look out or you will know more than 
I do, in spite of my going away, even in books. 
From what mother wrote, you must get pretty deep 
in history every evening. I wish it had been started 
while I was home. 

‘ Well, things are going on in the seminary very 
much as last term, except at the beginning of the 
year there are more new ones to get acquainted 


ii6 


EUNICE. 


with ; but the professors are all old — I mean the 
same ’ 

Trust him to correct himself,” inserted Mrs. 
Blake. 

‘‘ How? ” asked John, not understanding. 

Oh, he was afraid we would think the teachers 
were old, when he meant they were the same as last 
year.” 

^‘Oh, yes, James is truthful — truthful as 

the ” he seemed at a loss for a comparison. 

Moon ? ” suggested Harriet. It always re- 
flects the sun just the same at the proper angle, 
you know.” 

This appeared to satisfy him, and she read on. 

u « were here last year. One has been 

married, and brought his wife — the chemistry pro- 
fessor. 

‘ By the way, I can finish here this year. Pro- 
fessor Todd assured me I could. Then there will 
be two years at least after that, and maybe three ; 
but it will pay ; I am sure it will, for I certainly be- 
lieve that is my work. I am convinced more and 
more. 

‘ Now, mother, this is a short letter, I know ; 
but I have told about everything. Do write soon, 
and tell me all about home, the farm, and the 
neighbors. 

‘Is Mrs. Parkes still alone ? And does Vinie 
come home as she used to? Tell me all about 
everybody, and yourselves especially. 

“ ‘ I shall be home again Thanksgiving, remem- 
ber ! ^ ” 

“ As if we could possibly forget it ! ” exclaimed 


I.IFB AT MII^TON. 


II7 

Mrs. Blake, as she ran her eyes over the sheet 
again. ‘‘ What a comfort letters are ! she added 
with a smile. Then folding it up and rising at the 
same time, she exclaimed, Why ! I must be 
thinking about getting supper. It is later than I 
supposed. Shall you go to milk pretty soon ? ” 

John Blake had been sitting with his hands on 
his knees, and now he leaned back in his chair, 
with a troubled look on his face. 

She came near and stroked his forehead. 

‘‘ What is it she asked. 

‘‘ Oh, it is the same old query — will it pay, after 
all?” 

‘‘Now, John; you settled that long ago. Of 
course it will pay ! Has it not paid already. He 
has hardly asked a cent from us.” 

“No, true,” he answered; “he has not. It will 
probably turn out all right,” he concluded, un wrink- 
ling his forehead as he arose. “ I will go to the 
stables now. Tom has likely brought the cattle up 
by this time.” After a moment, he continued, 
beginning to scowl again, “There are Tom’s 
wages ! ” 

“Yes; but you had to have a man anyway, for 
a while, even if James had decided to be a farmer. 
You know you intended him to go to school a year 
or so, at all odds, and who knows what James may 
earn in the long vacation.” 

“ I suppose it is so, Harriet ; you always can set 
it straight, someway,” and he took the pails off to 
the barn. 

“ It has to be straightened somehow,” Harriet 
repeated to herself. will make the crooked 


ii8 


EUNICE). 


ways straight. I always liked that passage. It 
seems as if they always were needing to be straight- 
ened. Well ! 

This was the nearest approach to a murmur, 
which she had indulged in for a long time, and she 
immediately added : But it is a blessed work ! 
and she then set about getting supper as briskly as 
usual. 

As she brought the dishes out, and put the kettle 
on, her thoughts recurred to the letter and its refer- 
ence to the reading circle. 

‘‘ It is a help in keeping us from getting too lone- 
some. How wonderful history is anyway ! Going 
way back there before the dark ages, and then 
coming along down to now, as we are, and noticing 
things on the way, and doing it all in a few even- 
ings. My ! It is wonderful ! It is just like the 
steam engines we have nowadays. Everything goes 
with a whizz — even our thinking. " Then there is 
that reading in astronomy ; that fairly takes me off 
my feet ! ” 

As she went on meditating, she forgot what she 
was doing, and stood lost in thought before the 
window, from which she caught sight of the stars, 
that glittered faintly on the horizon. Her mind 
was framing an analogy between the courses of the 
stars and the threadings of history ; and as the 
lights of history occurred to her mind, one by one 
— those fair names that remain for all time — the 
stars came out, and presently she seemed to see 
the radiance of a brighter path, the light that trails 
along the steps where he has trod, and it appeared 
the Milky Way. She stood transfixed with the 


I.IFK AT MII^TON. 


II9 

greatness of the thought ; and if one could have 
seen her face, there would have been a grandeur 
about the dark features and large black eyes, that 
would never have been forgotten. 

The kitchen door was thrown open, and the men’s 
voices were heard. 

‘‘Well, well!” exclaimed Harriet Blake, recover- 
ing herself. “ Here I have been away off in the 
heavens, and the supper not ready yet. I am 
as bad as Socrates ! But they say his wife could 
bring him to I ” and she smiled at this ghost of a 
comparison. “ It is a shame, for undoubtedly John 
is hungry I ” and she bustled about, as if she had 
never entertained any but the most practical, house- 
wifely ideas. 

“Supper ready?” shouted John, from the wood- 
shed. 

“ In a minute,” answered his wife. 

While this scene was enacting at the Blake home- 
stead, Mr. Radcliffe was driving toward Milston 
Center. He had made several calls, more or less in 
the interest of the “ new church,” which he hoped 
soon to see “fashioned out of more substantial ma- 
terial than dreams are made of,” and was thinking : 
“ There is one great surety of success — the young 
people have taken hold of it so energetically.” 

In truth a wonderful change had came over the 
character of the Milston youth ; for many who had 
heretofore been regarded as indifferent were now 
the staunchest advocates of religion and improve- 
ment. They had grown to be steady farmers or 
mill operatives. Some had married, notably Ned 


1^0 


EUNICE. 


Brown and Jennie Doty, and settled down in a 
humble, but respectable way. 

The Sunday-school and Bible-class had increased 
in numbers and interest to such an extent that, as 
Mr. Radcliffe declared, it was almost a church it- 
self. This band of young students was a firm 
basis for the young people’s society which was 
afterward organized, and proved, without doubt, to 
be the nucleus of the church which, a few years 
later, grew into noble proportions, and became a 
potent factor in evangelical work. 

Milston was becoming more thickly settled. 
People began to see that it had a good, healthful 
location, near a railroad, and at a reasonable distance 
from the city. Therefore property increased in 
value, slowly to be sure, but owners took heart, and 
rejoiced that they had not ‘‘gone west after all.” 
John Blake once admitted as much to his wife. 
Mrs. Parkes even profited by the change, for she 
now had as much sewing and more than she could 
take in, for she was not feeling so strong as for- 
merly, and could not sit up as late as she had for- 
merly done. 

These thoughts were in Mr. Radcliffe’s mind as 
he rode home, but his call upon Mrs. Parkes had 
put him in some anxiety on her account. 

“ I must persuade her not to take so much work,” 
he thought. 

On the following day Mrs. Parkes received a caller, 
Mrs. Doty, who came to the door with a bundle of 
work, saying : 

“ There is a dress I should like made over when 
you have time. I am not particular about it right 
away.” 


I.IFK AT MITSTON. 


I2I 


“You were one of my first customers, Mrs. Doty, 
so I shall do it for you, although I am very busy,'' 
Mrs. Parkes answered. 

This occurred soon after Mrs. Parkes had arranged 
to sew for Miss Grant, and had begun to discover 
how many dresses a young lady needs, although she 
may not be strong, and “ does not go out much." 

Thus life went on in the country, enlivened now 
and then by such changes as naturally come to peo- 
ple who live “far from the madding crowd." 


CHAPTER IX. 


RIVALS. 


Me too thy nobleness has taught 
To master my despair ; 


The fountains of my hidden life 
Are through thy friendship fair. 


— R. W, Emerson, 



FEW days after the tea-party at Milston, Mrs. 


Carton Olway, looking out of her boudoir 
window, said : 

‘‘Ah! there comes Mr. Winthrop. I will go 
down immediately.” Then, viewing herself in the 
long mirror, to see that all was as she would have 
it, she descended the softly carpeted stairs. 

The maid, who had already let the visitor in, met 
Mrs. Olway in the hall. Taking the card she 
entered the library. 

“I saw you coming, and came right down.” 
After the usual preliminaries, Mrs. Olway asked : 
“Did your second hostess scold you the other 
night.?” 

He laughed. “No, not quite; but I just saved 
myself. Really, Lena” — he sometimes called her 
by the old playmate name — “everything was so 
novel to me the other evening, it quite awed me. 

I had no idea a missionary tea was anything so 

pleasing,” hesitating before choosing the last word. 
“But, it was all due, no doubt, to your perfect 


122 


RIVAI.S. 


123 

handling of it, and to He did not finish, 

and Lena asked, provokingly : 

^‘To you are really too inquisitive,” he 

added, provokingly, in his turn. ‘‘I shall not in- 
dulge such a morbid curiosity ! ” 

‘‘But a woman’s curiosity cannot be withstood, 
you know ; you might better submit gracefully, than 
be ingloriously conquered.” 

“ I prefer to run the risk,” he retorted, with an 
impenetrable look in his deep blue eyes, while a 
smile lurked about his clear-cut lips. “ Don’t you 
remember how I used to risk the ice cracking on 
the pond, and smile back in triumph when it bore 
me up on my untiring skates ? ” 

There was always a great deal of pleasantry be- 
tween these two, which was a relief to Richard, for 
he had an exquisite appreciation of mild humor, and 
his stories and descriptions were the delight of 
Lena. She tried to repeat them afterward to 
Carton, but somehow she never could make them 
quite so inimitable as the originals. 

“ I saw an amusing picture, or panorama, as I 
came up,” he continued, seeing the expectant look 
in her eyes. “You know I catch a glimpse of 
Wolcott Street Hill on my way. A long, narrow 
sled, bestridden by a row of small boys, glides 
stealthily down the road. Suddenly the scene is 
transformed into a distorted picket-fence of legs. 
A pause ! Suspense ! Kaleidoscopic change of 
adjustment ! Heels descend ! Heads ascend ! 
Finis — end ! ” His voice and manner, whenever 
he spoke, were suited to his subject, and Lena 


124 


EUNICE. 


laughed at this portrayal, as she had often laughed 
before, saying : 

You have such a way of looking at things that 
nobody else would notice. Your descriptions are 
just like etchings.’' 

‘‘Thank you,” he said, and was going to say 
something else, when Garton appeared at the door, 
followed by a strange gentleman. 

With a look of welcome at Richard, as he shook 
his hand, Garton said : “ Lena, I have brought Mr. 
Radcliffe ; my old college friend, Ernest Radcliffe, 
of whom you have often heard me speak. I caught 
him in my office and brought him up by main 
force.” 

“ I am delighted to see you, Mr. Radcliffe ; my 
sister Eunice has spoken of you, also ; and Garton 
was wishing for an opportunity to welcome you 
here,” Lena said, as she turned toward Mr. Win- 
throp. 

But Garton anticipated her. “And this is our 
friend, Mr. Winthrop, oftener known as Richard. 
You two ought to be the warmest of friends, with 
me for a medium, you know,” he added, as they 
were seating themselves. 

“This is a most delightful meeting,” Mr. Rad- 
cliffe remarked. “ I had longed to see Garton ; 
but this was beyond my fondest expectations, to- 
day at least.” 

“Nonsense, Ernest ! you must not be so true to 
your name. A little letting up is good for a fellow, 
you know,” replied Garton, relapsing into college 
vernacular. 

Then Richard Winthrop said : “ I am glad of this 


RIVAI^. 


125 


acquaintance, and I hope we can continue it some 
time; but,” rising, ‘‘I must be going now; I have 
already made a long call.” 

‘‘Will you not stay to dinner.?” Lena appealed. 

“ Of course,” Carton added ; “ now is the best 
possible time for you two to lay the foundations of 
friendship ; and, though I have not seen Ernest for 
so long, I will not be selfish, because this is only 
the beginning, you know.” Seeing Mr. Winthrop 
waver a little, he added : “ Really, Richard, I am 
commanding people to-day. No matter if you do 
break an engagement or two: just blandly forget 
them.” He spoke in a peculiar falsetto voice, which 
he sometimes humorously affected. 

“The voice of the siren is hard to withstand,” 
Mr. Winthrop answered, as he dropped back into 
his chair. 

“ I wonder if mother and Eunice would not come 
in to dinner to-day.? Then the circle would be 
complete,” Carton said, with a look at his wife. 

“ Shall I be excused and see.? ” she asked, rising. 

“Yes, dear, do;” he replied; then turning to 
Mr. Radcliffe, he added : “You have met my sister, 
Radcliffe, for it was through her that I knew of 
your whereabouts. What induced you to take such 
a small charge, Ernest, for I know you were offered 
one of the best .? I remember reading of your call 
to some city in Massachusetts, I think ; some high 
notion of yours, no doubt. I remember you of 
old!” 

“I was plainly directed,” Ernest Radcliffe an- 
swered, simply ; “ and besides I wanted a place that 
I could fill full,” he added, with an honest smile. 


126 


EUNICE. 


‘‘My energies were not large enough for a city 
charge/’ 

“ No ; I dare say not,” Garton remarked ; “ if you 
do things as thoroughly as you used. I judge you 
are even more conscientious than you used to be, if 
it were possible, from the results that reach me from 
Milston.” 

Before he finished his sentence Lena returned, 
followed by Mrs. Olway. 

“ Mother, this is Mr. Radcliffe, my college friend, 
from Milston ; and Richard you know.” 

“Yes, I know you both, by proxy, so to speak,” 
said Mrs. Olway, with a motion of the head toward 
her son, on whom she smiled with motherly sweet- 
ness. “ Eunice is out with Vina on mission work, 
and will not be back to dinner,” she added, answer- 
ing Carton’s questioning look. 

“I am sorry, mother. I wanted the perfect 
number ; but there is no counting on Eunice.” 

They conversed pleasantly until dinner was an- 
nounced ; the two unmarried men forming a mutual 
friendship, so that by the time they sat at the table, 
an observer would not have known but that all were 
old friends at a reunion. 

There is an affinity between congenial minds 
which needs only the chance to act, and a single 
instant makes it known. Thus it was with these 
two men, so different in nature and occupation, and 
happy it is, if nothing ever comes between to neu- 
tralize the attraction which binds them together. 

“ Oh, Radcliffe has studied the question you 
may be sure,” said Garton, as he was carving the 
turkey. 


RIVAI^. 


127 


Ernest Radcliffe and Richard Winthrop were dis- 
cussing the probability of life sometime centering 
altogether in the cities, leaving the country to scat- 
tered, solitary settlements. Paucity and pauper- 
ism will not go together in that case,’' Ernest Rad- 
cliffe had said. ‘‘ The great problems will swarm 
in the cities, as indeed they are multiplying there 
already ; and they will demand immediate attention. 
Indeed, we must awake to the situation soon or — 
but we shall awake.” 

Assuming that life does flow thither, no doubt 
methods of reform will increase also, which will in 
due time cease to be simply methods, and in the 
course of ages, will have wrought their elevating 
influence in bringing about a higher type of civili- 
zation. I do not fear for the cities. It is this con- 
centration which offers the best condition for puri- 
fication. The good elements will unite and force 
the others out, by means of this very limitation of 
space, so to speak.” Thus Richard Winthrop had 
answered just before Garton’s remark. 

‘‘Yes, but were it not better,” responded Mr. 
Radcliffe, without heeding Garton, and speaking 
with great fervor, “ were it not better that the good 
elements should be so combined as to neutralize the 
poisonous elements, even at the risk of breaking 
the containing vessel,” carrying out the other’s 
figure. “ There must be contact between the two, 
that the whole may be leavened,” he added, laugh- 
ing good-naturedly, as he realized that all were 
intently listening to his earnest words. “ Perhaps 
I get too heated, but I have had some personal 
object lessons lately that have fired my imagination.” 


1^8 


EUNICI^. 


^‘And your zeal too, my friend,’' said Garton. 

It is well we have such men.” 

Then the conversation turned upon other topics, 
and, at the last, before rising, they sang first a col- 
lege song, then a hymn, and Garton asked Ernest 
Radcliffe to return thanks. 

Wasn’t it u happy thought to get those two 
men together.?” Garton asked his wife, playfully, 
after their friends had gone. 

Yes, but ” 

But what .? ” Garton demanded. 

I am afraid if things go on as they have, they 
may wish they had never met.” 

What do you mean, Lena .? ” said he, looking 
puzzled and serious. 

Oh, do not look- so solemn. Only this : that 
both know Eunice, and from the way they both 
looked when her name was mentioned, I judge they 
both have an equal interest in her. When they 
begin to suspect each other, something may happen, 
if there is anything serious.” 

Oh, you little match-maker ! I am glad I am 
already married, or you would have me falling in 
love with every woman whom I happened to chat 
with.” He looked relieved. 

Of course Richard would stand the better 
chance — if Eunice does not find that it is not right 
for /ler to marry at all,” Mrs. Olway said, as if try- 
ing to assure herself of the certainty of the declar- 
ative part of her sentence. 

Are you positive .? ” asked her husband, with 
exasperating coolness. 

While they were discussing her future prospects, 


RIVAI.S. 


129 


the object of their concern was just coming out of 
a children's hospital, whither she had taken Vina, 
that the latter might make use of her fund of 
child’s stories in the convalescent ward, while she 
spent the hour in comforting the sick and dying. 

It was a trying hour for Eunice, for the sight of 
the poor little sufferers filled her heart with such 
pity that it was sometimes next to impossible for 
her to control her emotions sufficiently to talk and 
pray and sing for them, as was her wont. 

Indeed, it would seem that the sight would pierce 
a heart of rock, and let the waters of compassion 
gush forth in overpowering streams. So many 
were maimed, or bed-ridden for life ; others had 
been all but murdered by brutal parents ; and in 
nearly every face there peered out a poor, crushed 
little spirit, which expected nothing but rebuff and 
cruelty. Poor, little bleeding hearts, that had been 
martyred, when the Father had sent them, his dear 
ones, as heaven’s brightest boons. 

The pathos of the saying, They will reverence 
my Son.” 

The presence of Miss Olway was like magic in 
the hospital, and her voice, whether speaking or 
singing seemed to make them forget their suffer- 
ings. 

‘‘ Nurse takes away the pain,” said one little boy, 
who had been brought in from the street badly 
mangled in a railroad accident ; ‘‘ but Miss Eunice 
fills up the place with joy, and now I would almost 
rather have the pain, than not have the joy.” 

Miss Olway was thinking what a privilege it was 
to be able to give these hungry little hearts some 
I 


130 


EUNICE. 


share of comfort, and had scarcely listened while 
Vina was narrating how she had told the children a 
certain story, which she pointed with a moral. 

I told them of a man who wrote stories, and 
how, in a dream, he went to a place where he was 
obliged to meet all the characters he had created, 
and how he was forced to answer why he had made 
them, and many other unpleasant questions, ending 
by saying, now you must never make up bad 
stories, lest you may sometime have to meet the 
miserable, wicked people you have made! Then 
one bright little fellow spoke up and said : ‘ Won’t 
God be scart when he has to meet my pa ! ’ ” 

Oh, Vina ; what did you say ? ” Eunice asked, 
hardly knowing whether she wanted to laugh or cry. 

Well ! I confess I was dumbfounded at first, 
but I said something about God’s not making peo- 
ple bad, that they grew so themselves,” Vina 
replied. 

And now it had grown quite dark. They were 
coming into a confused part of the city, and had to 
pass through the Jewish quarter before they could 
reach an available street car. 

‘‘We have stayed longer than usual,” said 
Eunice, hurrying Vina along a little. “ Mother 
may be uneasy about us.” 

Just then they were almost passing a tall, slim 
gentleman, when he raised his hat, and said : 

“ I beg your pardon. Miss Olway, but may I have 
the pleasure of escorting you home ? I think it is 
due me in a certain sense,” he added, laughingly, 
as she took one arm, while he offered the other to 
Vina. 


RIVAI^S. 


I3I 

It was Mr. Winthrop ; and he proceeded to 
explain that he had dined with her brother, and 
might have had the pleasure of dining with her, 
had she not been out. 

You are very devoted to benevolent work,” he 
remarked, looking down at her, as they made their 
way through the broad, shadowy streets, where the 
Jews held predominance. ‘‘We comfortable people 
might almost be willing to exchange places for the 
sake of getting such devotion — but it is very rare,” 
he added, in the same breath. 

“ Indeed you would not, if you had seen the 
sight we just came away from,” answered Miss 
Olway, with tears in her voice. “ The children 
wring my heart more than any others.” 

“ In the hospital ? ” he added. 

“ Yes ; and I wish there were many, many more 
such places — they are blessed institutions.” 

Mr. Winthrop did not reply immediately, but her 
words deeply impressed him. He was thinking : 

“ If more women were like you, there would be 
no need of hospitals,” but he had no thought of 
saying so aloud. It seemed to him an insult to 
compliment her, and he never flattered. 

Then Vina remarked : “ Mr. Winthrop, I must 
tell you the funniest thing ! ” and she repeated the 
story and the boy’s question, to Miss Olway’s sup- 
pressed annoyance and regret. 

“ It seemed so unfitting just then, but Vina does 
not see,” Eunice thought when she was in her own 
room that night ; and she ended by feeling more 
solicitude for Vina, and in reproaching herself be- 
cause she was not doing more for the girl. 


132 


EUNICE. 


Not many days afterward, Mr. Winthrop ventured 
to call upon Miss Olway. Though diligent in his 
business, he gave himself sufficient leisure to satisfy 
his social nature. He was not incited to make 
money, having already a fortune, which although 
not large, was ample enough for his needs. He was 
no lover of gain for its own sake, and would never 
have been tempted by gold, although he might have 
coveted rank or fame. So he followed his calling 
with the moderation of the English gentleman, 
rather than with the restlessness of the average 
American aspirant, who maketh haste to be rich.'' 

Miss Olway was at home. In fact, she was in the 
parlor, seated in the midst of a company of young 
girls about Vina's age, and was talking to them in a 
low, earnest tone. Her words were evidently bits 
of advice or warning, or possibly a recital of personal 
experiences ; and her young auditors sat on chairs, 
or crouched at her feet, listening with wide-eyed 
eagerness. 

This was a treat which was granted to the girls 
quite often — as often as Miss Olway could spare 
the afternoon. Sometimes there were light re- 
freshments, but oftener a pretty card or booklet, 
and always a loving, helpful word ; for she always 
had a short private talk with each one — a real 
‘‘heart-to-heart talk," and the girls made her a con- 
fidante. 

“It is a sort of modernized class meeting," 
Eunice once said, after they had gone. She smiled 
a little at the thought, for she herself was not a 
Methodist ; but she never hesitated to avail herself 
of any good idea of the sister denominations. “ De- 


RIVAI.S. 


133 


nominations are children of one family/' she said, 
'^if they acknowledge the Father and the Son, and 
the good things of one are the good things of 
all." 

She was giving the farewell advice and exhorta- 
tion, when Molly came in and said : 

Miss Olway, a gentleman has called to see you. 
I told him you was having a young missions meet- 
ing in the parlor, and first he said he’d call again, 
and then, after I said ‘ I guess she’s most through,’ 
he said he’d wait if you didn’t care. Here’s his 
card ; it’s Mr. Winthrop what usually rings at the 
other door." 

‘‘Yes, Molly; tell him please, that I will be at 
liberty in a few moments." 

It was with some hesitation that she went into 
their private library to meet Mr. Winthrop. She 
tried to school herself to the occasion. A call was 
nothing extraordinary, and it was natural that Mr. 
Winthrop should come, after escorting them home 
the other night. It was only Lena’s sly suggestions 
that rang in her ears. 

“ I did not know I was so foolish ; but I am learn- 
ing my weaknesses every day." 

Mr. Winthrop arose as she came in ; and, extend 
ing his hand, said : 

“ I fear I have trespassed upon your precious 
moments; but will you not consider me an object 
of benevolence?" He began with real solicitude; 
but seeing honest remonstrance expressed in her 
face, he ended lightly with a smile. 

He was so perfectly at ease that her unpleasant 
thoughts left her the moment after she had entered 


m 


EUNICE. 


the door. Of course his coming was a ‘‘ mere so- 
cial duty '' ; and she was free to be herself again. 

It was only a few little girls who come occa- 
sionally for a serious talk. I fear Molly gave you 
a very pretentious notion, from what she told me 
she said to you.” 

He laughed outright. 

Molly is a genius in her way. She said I would 
be wise to wait if I really wanted to see Miss 
Olway, and was not just pretending, for no one 
knew where Miss Olway was once in a hundred, for 
it was missions here, and missions there, and what 
not. After that I did not dare to leave for fear of 
compromising my sincerity.” 

The way in which he said this elicited a hearty 
laugh from Miss Olway. There was a rich, subdued 
tone in her laugh, like the unfettered joy of some 
other being — perhaps music dt self personified. At 
least so Mr. Winthrop thought. 

‘‘Yes; Molly is shrewd and frank. I suppose 
she received the idea from Lena’s once speaking of 
those who make a point of calling when they think 
the people are out.” 

This explanation sobered them again. 

“You spoke of having some young girls here. 
You have one living with you — Miss Vina Parkes, 

I think, you called her. Along with everything 
else I greatly enjoyed her recitation the other night. 
She has marked dramatic talent.” This was as 
near as he allowed himself to approach a direct 
compliment to Miss Olway. 

She understood his delicate appreciation, and 
said : 


RIVAI^. 


135 


Thank you ! Vina is a very dear little girl.” 

‘^The children are very fond of her,” Mr. Win- 
throp remarked ; ‘‘ I remember Dora once promised 
me as a great favor, that I might sometime have 
Vina tell me stories.” He also remembered Dora’s 
adding as a climax that she would get ‘‘Auntie 
Eunice ” to sing for him, if he would comply with a 
certain request ; but he did not think of repeating 
this just now. 

He did say, however — “ Oh, by the way. Miss 
01 way, I have just received some new music, which 
I consider very fine, and I should be happy to send 
it to you if you care to look at it, for I myself can- 
not half interpret music in black and white. It is 
mostly sacred, and might be of use to you in your 
work.” 

He spoke with such disinterested frankness that 
she gladly accepted his offer. 

“ I was wishing for something new only yesterday 
to sing at the mission,” she said, with a grateful look. 
It did not occur to her now that there could be any 
reason for hesitating. 

“ I shall feel greatly honored if I can have any 
part in your work. I see more beauty now in mis- 
sions, and such benevolences as you are engaged 
in,” he said, after a moment of silence. “ My mind 
has changed on that subject since the tea the other 
evening. Y ou succeeded in enlightening one heathen 
at least.” He smiled slightly, but grew serious 
again ; he could not help being serious with her. 
“ I have always before looked upon these things as 
superfluous — now I see that they add real dignity 
and beauty to life. It would almost be a pleasure 


EUNICE. 


136 

to feel a like interest myself/' His homage was 
unmistakably sincere. 

Can you not } ” she asked, earnestly, looking at 
him with a new but impersonal regard. 

Can we control our feelings ? " he questioned ; 
‘‘ I mean to that extent." It was very pleasant to 
arouse such quick sympathy. It is very doubtful 
whether I can," he thought. 

It is the will that is ours to control, and the 
feeling follows that," she answered, humbly. 

Our wills are ours to make them thine," she 
quoted a moment later from his favorite poet, look- 
ing wistfully out of the window. 

He had not intended to commit himself so far, 
when he began, but he was very willing to go on, 
if she would lead. 

know," she said, with some effort, “you do 
not look upon these things as vital, in the way that 
I do ; but I should not do so if I had not seen that 
they are vital. They are only the expression of 
life, to be sure," she went on, still looking out into 
space ; “ and that is why they appear unnecessary — 
except to those who understand that life in its full 
meaning." 

Now she was almost frightened at her own bold- 
ness ; but she had spoken the words, almost with- 
out willing it. Mr. Winthrop saw her dismay and 
longed to relieve her, but was so deeply touched 
that he could not speak immediately. 

“I have said too much," she gasped; “but I 
could not help it, and it is so real to me." 

But her sympathy had not played her false. 
After a moment Mr. Winthrop said : 


RIVAI^. 


137 


'^You have moved me as I have never been 
moved before. I have watched your life, and now 
your words have revealed its motive as I had never 
dreamed of it before. They have opened a new 
realm to me. I should rejoice to be taught by you, 
for I see that I am very ignorant. It is that same 
something which eludes me which you caught so 
easily when looking at the picture.” 

‘‘No; it is not that,” she continued, forgetful of 
everything but her great opportunity. “ It is that 
you see the beautiful — the divine, as an abstraction, 
not as a person. Without this there is no appre- 
ciation, no inspiration, there is no real worship. It 
is God personified in Christ ; the living essence of 
all that is beautiful or true. It is the beautiful 
speaking in the soul and saying, ‘Let there be 
light ! ' and there is no more night, or loneliness, or 
sense of self as a unit, but as bound up in God and 
Christ, and souls and eternity — and all else is but 
the expression of this, which, told in one word, is 
love^ whose essence it is to seek its own — his own. 
But there is a crisis, and on that hangs all love’s 
anxiety ; souls may choose the abstract, and shut 
themselves away from love.” 

She had spoken as one inspired, hardly knowing 
what she said. He looked at her in awe. What 
other words could have appealed to him so strongly, 
lover of the beautiful as he was He had come, 
believing that he loved her, and that some time he 
would ask her to accept his love. But now he felt 
unworthy to touch her shoe-latchet. She only was 
alive. She had once been beautiful to him, now she 
was transfigured. 


138 


EUNICE. 


After a time — neither knew how long — he spoke 
some incoherent words, touched her hand in part- 
ing, and she was alone, helpless and dazed at what 
had happened. Then she fell upon her knees in 
the twilight, and poured out her heart to Him who 
bent beside her and bathed her brow, lighting a 
flame of hope in her heart, and filling her with the 
approving presence, so that she arose renewed, and 
went upstairs, willing to lay all upon the bosom of 
her eternal rest. 


CHAPTER X. 


VINA. 


Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, 
In the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side. 


— Lowell. 


The development of a soul ; little else is worth study. 
Her birthright was to grow from grub to butterfly. 


— Browning. 



INTER had passed. Concerts, lectures, and 


VV teas had been attended as usual in the city, 
while the country had seen its customary round of 
donations and ‘^surprises.” Ignorance and culture, 
affluence and poverty had jostled in a busy world 
as the fleecy garments of young winter had grad- 
ually turned into the bonnie green robes of spring. 
April and May vied with each other in the country 
meadows, until June came as peacemaker, and out- 
rivaled both. 

Vina was to graduate in June. The week of 
anniversary was to her a prospective season of 
triumph. She was the acknowledged leader of the 
graduating class, and had come to consider herself 
quite an important personage. Teacher and student 
looked at her with favor. Her brilliancy was unde- 
niable, and it would have been foolish to suggest a 
rival among her mates. Vina’s marks were ninety- 
nine plus. 


139 


140 


EUNICE. 


The time was drawing near. Appointment essays 
were written and corrected. Rehearsals were in 
order, and dressmakers were in despair. 

Vina was to have a dainty, pure white, lace- 
finished mull, and a pale, blue-figured China silk, 
in which to carry off commencement honors. 
Though these were very modest in comparison 
with many other gowns, they were undeniably be- 
coming, and Vina was now quite reconciled to Miss 
Olway’s taste, after all. At any rate, she dared not 
be otherwise. The other requisites of a girl’s toilet 
were added, and Vina was intensely happy. The 
sun shone brightly in her little world. 

Mrs. Parkes had received an urgent invitation to 
spend the momentous week with Mrs. Olway. It 
was of long standing, and had been anticipated with 
a half-timid joy. Miss Olway wished to bring her 
back with them, as they came from Milston the last 
time before commencement, but Mrs. Parkes pleaded 
^‘a trifle more sewing” which she ‘^must do.” Eu- 
nice was forced to yield, and when back in the city 
became busier than ever, being pre-occupied with a 
^‘new idea.” Vina was in the whirl of excitement 
which usually attends such a festive season. So 
Mrs. Parkes’ coming was in part forgotten until a 
letter came saying that unavoidable circumstances 
made it inconvenient for her to come before the 
graduation day. The hindrance was nothing im- 
portant, but she really did not care much for any- 
thing except to see Vina receive her diploma. It 
was more for Vina’s sake that she had agreed to 
come at all. 

This was the substance of the letter, and Miss 


VINA. 


141 

Olway read it with deep regret, and would have 
gone immediately to Milston and insisted upon 
Mrs. Parkes’ coming, for she suspected it was the 
promised work that kept her, but there were very 
important reasons just then why she should be in 
the city, and she gave it up, after Vina had said : 

‘‘Well, you know. Miss Eunice, mamma really 
had to pretend that she wanted to be here to please 
me, and I do believe it would be a burden to her to 
go out so much. Even here,’' she continued, as 
Eunice still looked dissatisfied, “ she would have a 
good deal of excitement, and mamma, someway, 
does not care much for that now.” 

In the midst of the general excitement, another 
affair in a different circle was to take place. A 
dramatic club, of which Mr. and Mrs. Garton Olway 
were members, had concluded to give a play to their 
select friends, and Mrs. Olway had placed her re- 
ception rooms at their disposal. Quite extensive 
preparations were being made, for many things later 
seemed necessities which occurred to no one at 
first, and the entertainment promised to be a rare 
treat. 

Just two days before the night appointed, one of 
those who was to take part was called away, for a 
reason which necessitated a long absence, and it 
seemed likely that the play would have to be given 
up, or postponed indefinitely. Lena was greatly 
disappointed over it, when it suddenly occurred to 
her that Vina might take the part, — it was “Ne- 
rissa,” in “ Merchant of Venice,” who was lacking. 
The thought seemed a mockery, but she argued to 
herself : 


EUNICE. 


142 

Vina is such a bright girl ! She can learn it 
quickly, I am sure ; and she has a perfect genius 
for impersonating/' She felt reassured. ‘‘Any- 
way, I will ask her if she thinks she can do it. If 
she only can, it will be delightful ! " 

Elated by the thought, she sought the girl. Vina 
was in her own room writing a letter. 

“ My dear, I want you very much for something," 
Mrs. Olway exclaimed, as she entered the room. 

Vina looked up with evident surprise and expec- 
tation, though she was growing used to being 
wanted. 

“ Miss Westly, who was to take the part of ‘ Ne- 
rissa ’ in our play, has been called away suddenly. 
What I want to know is, could you learn it on such 
short notice ? It is announced for the night after 
to-morrow. It is asking a good deal, I know, but 
you are so quick, and I do dislike to give it up. 
Could you ? " 

“ Mrs. Olway, I can try. I can learn almost by 
reading over a thing, and I already know a good 
deal of ‘Merchant of Venice' by heart. I should 
love to," Vina replied, with exultation expressed in 
every feature. 

“ Oh, I am so glad ! I am sure you can, for you 
recite so beautifully. It seems perfectly natural for 
you to impersonate — if you will have time ? " She 
was not quite sure yet. 

“ Oh ! I have nothing to do now ; and," reflect- 
ing a momtot, Vina added, “ I have no pressing 
engagements to-morrow, or next day, and I gradu- 
ate, you know, the day after. But what shall I do 
for a costume ? " 


VINA. 


143 


** Oh, we have that already. It may need refit- 
ting, that is all. If you learn the part so that we 
can rehearse two or three times, that will do. It 
does seem almost absurd, when we have spent so 
much time on it. It would if it were any one else ; 
but I am sure you can do it.'' Mrs. Olway beamed 
with smiles. 

Thank you ! I will try my best," Vina said, as 
she arose, at Lena's suggestion, and went with her 
to see the costume and learn more of the details. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Olway senior was entertaining 
an old friend who had been invited for commence- 
ment week. Thus she saw less of Vina than usual, 
her own mind being full of the old memories, which 
were so dear to both these women. 

After Vina had consented to take the part, she 
remained in her room nearly all day rehearsing it as 
she had often imagined herself doing. Vina was pas- 
sionately fond of Shakespeare, and often in imagi- 
nation endowed his characters with life and action, 
although she had never entered a theatre. 

Thus it happened that neither Miss Olway nor 
her mother knew of the substitution in the play, or 
wondered at Vina's seclusion. On her part, it did 
not occur to Vina to speak of it, and besides she 
was entirely absorbed in her preparation. 

The eventful night arrived. After the first re- 
hearsal, Mrs. Carton Olway had no doubt of her suc- 
cess, for Vina took her part perfectly, to the amaze- 
ment of all. They looked upon her as a prodigy, 
and she was flattered until her head whirled. Only 
a few of her less successful fellow-actors after- 
ward remarked to their confidential friends, that 


144 


EUNICE. 


the young girl at the Olways’ might turn out to 
come of a line of actors, and if so they would not 
be surprised.” 

Vina knew nothing of this reflection, however, 
and Lena merely intimated to Garton, who took no 
part, that it was almost beyond comprehension that 
such a plain looking woman should have a daughter 
like Vina. 

Garton dryly suggested that possibly the mother 
was merely playing a prosy part, and said : 

Life for her no doubt has had more prose than 
poetry.” 

The night arrived, and the cultured audience 
whispered in subdued accents, like bees humming 
in a field of clover. At last the improvised cur- 
tain rose, and the amateur performance began. Of 
course it was not faultless acting that was antici- 
pated, but intellectual stimulus which such a com- 
pany of Shakespearian students expected to impart 
by their attempt at representation. It also gave a 
pleasing variety to social occasions. 

The part of ‘‘Antonio ” was taken by Richard Win- 
throp, and he interpreted that noble but passive 
character with fine appreciation and excellent ren- 
dering, surpassing in this regard, at least, the char- 
acter of “ Shylock,” although the latter had been 
assigned to a rich merchant of Jewish descent, an 
apostate from the faith. 

But even with greater contrast did the imperson- 
ation of “ Nerissa” appear more skillful than that of 
“ Portia.” Thus the two chief characters lost luster, 
as it were, in the presence of these subordinates. 

Inspired by the expectant gathering, and the ele- 


VINA. 


145 


gance of the surroundings for the occasion, Vina in 
the height of exultation took the audience by storm. 
Her apperance had been kept a secret, and soon all 
began to surmise who this captivating young im- 
personator might be. The result was that at the 
end of the play they were in a furor of delight, 
and fairly overwhelmed Vina with compliments and 
flattery. Her known attainments at school, and her 
graduating honors, together with this display of 
dramatic genius, furnished enough material for the 
imaginations of some of the ladies present from 
which to weave a passing romance of which ‘‘Ne- 
rissa became the transient, but no less applauded 
heroine. 

There comes to the gifted — if not to all who 
attain unusual height in any particular — some mo- 
ments of supreme satisfaction, resulting either from 
a full consciousness of yet unrecognized power, or 
from a free acknowledgement of the same by others, 
and consequent honors. To the former is added 
the element of hope, and this intangibility perhaps 
endows it with a higher bliss. The latter, however, 
is more often sought for, even by genius, and is 
always considered the omen of success. 

Vina went to her room that night with the sense 
of a newly awakened passion within her, which was 
clamoring to be the master of her heart. Her 
whole being seemed full of a drama, of which the 
denouement was an ecstacy. She stood there in the 
darkness as one transfixed, her eyes ablaze, and her 
cheeks glowing. 

What mattered it to her that Mrs. Olway sup- 
posed she was in bed long ago, or that Miss Eunice, 

K 


146 


KUNICK. 


thinking the same, had gone to her own room im- 
mediately after the ‘‘good-night talk’’ with her 
mother. What did she care that the children were 
submitting to neglect with reluctance, and would 
be glad when Vina “graduated.” No thoughts of 
ordinary life found a place in Vina’s present ab- 
sorption. 

“ Oh, that was glorious ! and I have never known 
it until now ! But I have found it out at last. I 
am beginning to live now — and I shall live. But . 
would they like it ? Would they want to stop 
me ? ” A pang shot through her heart, but its 
effect soon passed away. 

Then she threw herself upon her bed, and gave 
herself up to her rapture. In her transport, she 
pictured herself as always acting for adoring audi- 
ences, and covering herself with honors. 

“ I could act forever ! ” 

But the thought brought back to her mind the 
word “forever” once spoken by Miss Olway in one 
of the “ serious talks ” with a very different import, 
and a shadow of remorse flitted across her. 

“ What would Miss Eunice think if she could see 
me now ! But Miss Eunice does not understand — 
she could never comprehend ! ” 

Then remembering for an instant what Miss Ol- 
way had done for her, she buried her face in her 
hands for shame. But it could not last. Her de- 
sire was eating up her heart. 

“ I shall live for it, even if ” she was saying 

to herself, when a gentle rap sounded at the door. 

She waited, in breathless fright, her nerves were 
unstrung to such an extent. It came again, and 


VINA. 147 

this time a voice accompanied it. Miss Eunice was 
saying : 

Vina, dear ! can you wake up now } I must 
come in.” 

She started from the bed and unbolted the door, 
filled with mysterious apprehension. 

Miss Olway took her in her arms, ‘‘ Why, Vina ! 
what is it ” she asked, in some surprise. ‘‘ Not 
undressed ? How does it happen } ” Eunice her- 
self had been awakened from sound sleep, and now 
she could hardly tell whether she was awake or 
dreaming. ‘‘ Speak quick, Vina ! I have something 
to tell you. Is it providential that you are dressed ? 
But it all seems so strange ! ” 

Then Vina gasped : O Miss Eunice ! what is 
it ? Why have you come ? ” 

telegram,” Miss Olway answered slowly, 
carefully, as if to spare the girl’s feelings, ‘Hrom 
Mr. Radcliffe, at Milston. Your mother is very 
sick, dear; but she may get well. We will pray 
that she may get well. I tell you the worst at 
once, dear ” She held Vina in her arms, sooth- 

ing, comforting, and praying for her; meantime 
wondering, without further question, why she found 
Vina thus at eleven o’clock at night. 

After the sobbing ceased a little, she continued : 
‘‘ Dear, I think we had better go at once. Carton 
has a carriage at the door, and will go with us. 
Bear up, my dear. God will give you strength. 
Only lean on him, dear — on Christ — he is right here 
with us.” 

But Vina had fainted. 

It was some time before Eunice felt that she 


148 


EUNICE. 


ought to take Vina away, yet the telegam had said, 
‘‘ Come immediately.” 

Finally, Vina rallied sufficiently for Garton to 
carry her in his arms to the carriage. It seemed 
to Eunice a blessed thing that Vina was almost un- 
conscious. In truth, the girl’s slight frame was 
exhausted, although she knew not the whole extent 
of the case. She and Garton hardly spoke, except 
in monosyllables, until they arrived, for there was 
an acommodation train at midnight. 

Mr. Radcliffe met them at the door, and as Gar- 
ton brought Vina in, said, under his breath, ‘‘ Poor 
child ! ” 

Miss Olway placed Vina upon her own bed, in 
her own little room. Then she began to sob again ; 
but Eunice quieted her by saying that Mr. Rad- 
cliffe thought Mrs. Parkes might get well, for the 
doctor gave some hope. 

But Vina’s agony seemed only more intense, as 
the tears ceased to flow. She was undergoing the 
death-throes of her previous ecstacy, now reversed 
— so cruelly reversed. No, and that was the most 
terrible thought of all, she had been cruel ; while 
her poor mother was suffering, nay, almost dying, 
she, Vina, was rejoicing in what she knew was 
wrong; yes, rejoicing in what she felt would kill 
her mother, if she knew it. 

I am no better than Celia ! ” was her thought. 
^^I am no better than Celia ! ” 

The effect of Celia’s heartlessness upon her 
mother, had made a deep impression upon Vina’s 
childish mind. 

Oh, if mamma will only live ! If she will only 


VINA. 


149 


live ; or else I have killed her ! I have killed her ! 
Her imagination made the suffering more intense 
when her conscience began to awaken — for Vina’s 
conscience could not be entirely repressed after 
such a long contact with the Olways. 

“The nurse says she is sleeping now/' Mr. Rad- 
cliffe whispered to Miss Olway, when she came out 
to see what ought to be done. “ She has been 
unable to sleep until now, and raved so about Celia 
and Vina and you, that I hardly knew what was 
best to do. She must have been under some fear- 
ful anxiety in her life. I never realized before the 
extent of her trouble — and I could only pray.” 
But as Eunice looked disturbed, he added, more 
encouragingly : “ The doctor thinks she may rally. 

She has been ill for several days, and I only knew 
it this morning. It seems she let no one know ; 
but Mrs. Grant finally sent for me, because she was 
so much worse. She was trying to keep it from 
Vina until after she graduated.” 

Garton also came up as Ernest Radcliffe was 
speaking, and they all talked in low whispers. 
Presently Ernest said : 

“ About two hours ago, she became rational, and 
whispered, ‘ Call Vinie and Miss Eunice now, for I 
must go,' and then she sank away again in a 
stupor.” 

“I am so glad we are here,” Eunice said, her 
eyes filling with the tears which had been so long 
forbidden. But, controlling herself she asked : 
“ Is there not something I can do in there now ? ” 
as she looked toward the door of the sick-room. 

“ No, no. Miss Olway ; there is a trained nurse, 


EUNICE. 


150 

perfectly competent. Your presence is all/' he 
added, with a gentle smile. 

His strong manliness gave her a peculiar sense 
of security and cheer in this dark hour. 

‘‘ I was so sorry to be obliged to send the tele- 
gram," he said to Miss Olway. ‘‘ Garton says you 
never received it until eleven. I am sorry, but the 
doctor said it was better to send immediately, as 
he could not tell how long she would last. He was 
more hopeful later." Then he looked searchingly 
into her face, and added: ‘‘You are very weary ! 
Please go and rest ; you can do nothing." 

“Yes, Eunice, that is right," Garton added, put- 
ting his arm about her. “ You must be tired. I 
forgot how you had tramped all day. You remem- 
ber, mother told me to take good care of you." 

Eunice was almost unnerved, but still controlled 
herself with an effort, and replied : 

“ I will go and lie down with Vina." 

The two men talked in low whispers, as they 
watched through the small hours of the morning. 

Finally Garton said: “How strangely things 
come about ; who would have dreamed we two would 
be here just now ? Life is very strange ! " 

“Yes," answered Ernest, “and wonderful and 
glorious ! " Garton did not reply, and after a pause, 
Ernest continued : “ We used to think it would be 

glorious, Garton." Ernest put out his hand, and 
clasped Garton’s, as they sat opposite each other. 
“ But the reality is grander than the promise of 
those early dreams, is it not ? " 

“For you, Ernest. For me it has been sweet 
— ^very sweet, but yet unsatisfying." 


VINA. 


I5I 

They pressed each other's hands, and sat in 
silence; but it was the silence that speaks more 
than words. 

As the darkness trembled, paling at the promise 
of the dawn, just when that promise of light is 
scarcely more than an atmosphere or foreshadowing 
presence, there was a slight stir in the sick-room ; 
and a little later, when hope changed into fruition, 
and the first real rays appeared, the nurse came out 
and said : 

“ She is awake now, but is very weak. The pain 
seems to have left her, but I fear she will sink away 
before many hours. I don’t know as it is best, but 
she keeps asking for ' Vinie and Miss Eunice. ’ ” 
Had I not better call in the doctor first, and 
get his opinion ? ” Mr. Radcliffe asked. 

‘‘Perhaps; yes, I guess you had better,” the 
nurse replied. 

When the doctor came out of the sick-^oom an 
hour later, he looked very grave. Miss Olway had 
appeared as soon as she heard the noise, and came 
up to him with anxious questioning in her eyes. 

“ You are ‘ Eunice ” he asked. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Her strength is giving out. I fear she cannot 
live through the day, but she is rational and com- 
posed, except when the spasms come on. I think 
it will do to let her see you, as she seems so 
anxious,” he said, quietly. “The daughter is 
here ? ” 

“Yes,” Eunice answered, composing her face 
that she might help Vina meet her sorrow. It was 
hard ; but she was growing accustomed to hard 


152 


EUNICE. 


things for the sake of others. Her tender sym- 
pathy made it doubly difficult. 

I can stay, if you wish it, although I think it is 
unnecessary,” the doctor added, looking at her. 

As you think best,” she replied, with a question- 
ing glance at Mr. Radcliffe. 

‘‘ If it would be at all better that you were here, 
stay,” Mr. Radcliffe said. 

‘‘Well, I will stay,” the doctor answered; “at 
least till daylight.” 

Vina, meanwhile, had listened at the door of her 
bedroom, and learned enough to know the terrible 
truth. In her agony, she threw herself on her 
knees by the bed, and cried to God, as she had 
never done before. 

“ Forgive me ! oh, forgive me, God and let her 
live. I will give it all up ! I will be good. Oh, 
forgive me, and help me ! ” 

She did not know at first that Miss Olway was 
beside her. She was alone with the great, great 
God. The same eye that had looked upon her in the 
play, had also looked upon her suffering mother, 
and now he was going to punish her. Eunice sim- 
ply put her arms around the shivering little form, 
and prayed mutely by her side. 

After a time, Vina became conscious of Eunice, 
and said : 

“ Oh, tell me ! Will he let her live ? ” 

“ Darling, he knows best. He will only take her 
to himself ; not away, only nearer to him ; and soon 
again, he will come to take us too, and then it will 
all be joy!” 

“ Celia ! ” sobbed Vina. 


VINA. 


153 


Yes, dear, Celia too ; for I believe he is going to 
let us bring iDack Celia. We have prayed so long, 
dear, and God is so good.’^ 

Vina was quiet for a time. Then she drew closer 
to Eunice. 

“ She wants to see us ? ” she whispered. 

‘‘Yes, dear,” Eunice said softly, folding the girl 
to her bosom. 

A calm stole over them. They arose. Eunice 
bathed Vina's cheeks and smoothed her hair with 
her magnetic hands, then sitting upon the bed, 
Eunice held Vina against her breast, waiting until 
she could speak. 

“We must go now ? ” Vina asked, faintly. 

“ I think so, darling.” 

Mrs. Parkes was again in a stupor when they en- 
tered the room. The nurse said that she wakened 
and dozed alternately. 

They sat close to each other by the bedside, and 
Vina pressed her closed eyelids against Eunice’s 
neck. After a while, Mrs. Parkes opened her great, 
staring eyes. When she saw Miss Olway, she 
smiled as if she had always been there, and whis- 
pered : 

“ It is all right now. I am not going to worry 
any more.” 

She closed her eyes again, for a moment, and 
then aroused herself. Her face had a beautiful ex- 
pression of repose, such as they had never before seen 
there. It stopped Vina’s weeping and strengthened 
her for the ordeal. 

“ Vinie, my child,” she whispered, speaking slowly 
for her, and at intervals ; but she held out one bony 


154 


EUNICE. 


hand, ‘‘ It was all God and Miss Eunice ! They 
have done it all for us. I was to blame for Celia,” 
and then as a happy light came into her eyes — 
‘‘but that is all right now. He says ‘don’t worry, 
my child, we will see to Celia and Vinie.’ We looked 
after you, you know — only you just better tell Vinie, 
so she will help too.” She was holding Vina’s 
hand, and appeared lost in thought. 

Soon she sank into another stupor, and the nurse 
said they had better go until she awakened again. 
But Vina could not bear to move ; so they sat a 
long time in silence. The breathing was growing 
heavier, and the nurse moved about quietly, watch- 
ing her patient with furtive glances. Presently Mrs. 
Parkes stirred slightly and motioned for Miss Olway 
to come nearer. 

“ Mr. Radcliffe,” she whispered, faintly. 

When he came, she seemed satisfied. 

“ Pray ! ” her lips faltered. 

He kneeled beside the bed, where she could see 
his face, and prayed as if he were whispering into 
the ear of God, who seemed to be bending just 
above them. 

There was a wonderful sweetness and light in the 
room when he ceased. A sudden strength came to 
the dying woman. She said aloud : 

“ Oh ! It is the most wonderful of all ! ” Then 
turning to those around her bedside, she asked sud- 
denly : “ Are they all here ? Oh, tell everybody to 
give all they have to those who are hungry. He will 

give it to them all ; at first, then they must give 

Miss Eunice gave and God ” She sank 

back with closed eyes. Mrs. Parkes was dead. 


CHAPTER XI. 


BONDS OF LOVE. 

It was not with bonds of common love 
Our hearts were knit together. 

We had seen 

Each other’s strength and truth of mind and hence 
We loved with passion’s holiest confidence. 

— Anon, 

I T seemed a year to Vina since that fatal night, as 
she sat in the ^‘mother’s room” with Mrs. 
Olway and Eunice two weeks after the funeral. 
She herself appeared much older ; her thin, little 
face was wan, and she looked half sick, as she lay 
back in the easy-chair, which the maltese cat shared 
with her while he purred sleepily under her arm. 
Mrs. Olway sat near holding her hand, and Eunice 
was in her favorite position, with her head upon her 
mother’s lap. Few words were spoken ; but all 
were thinking seriously either of the present, the 
past, or the future. 

It was not exactly known what had hastened the 
death of Mrs. Parkes, although she had a secret 
trouble which, the physician said, together with 
overwork, had at last broken her constitution. 

Eunice blamed herself for not going to Milston 
earlier ; but Vina had not strength enough now to 
blame herself for anything. She could only think 
and think, stunned by her disappointment and sor- 

155 


156 


EUNICE. 


SOW. Her twinges of remorse grew less and less 
as she said to herself again and again : 

“ It was wicked ! but I will be good now ! I will 
be good now ! 

Before she came to this conclusion, she passed 
through a period of torment, doubt, and despair. 
She struggled herself into a woman. Just at the 
height of achievement and expectation, flushed with 
pride, the blow had come as a knell, a deprivation, 
a punishment. She not only lost her mother, but 
she also lost the honors of graduation. The great 
burden of sorrow, weighted with smaller trials, had 
fallen upon a nature which was keenly sensitive to 
every shade of suffering. Vina had also an affec- 
tionate nature, and she endured more distress in 
proportion as she was more than ordinarily imagi- 
native. Now she would cry out against fate, which 
had brought her to this trouble ; or she would trem- 
ble as she pictured herself on the verge of the 
chasm into which she had fancied Celia plunged in 
disgrace ; or she would melt in penitence at the 
thought of Miss Olway and her own mother’s death- 
bed. Her imagination magnified the strength of 
her passion, and made of the night on which she 
acted, a crisis in her life. As a climax she felt that 
James had deserted her, and his few serious words 
proved as arrows to her remorse, for she thought : 
** I had indeed become frivolous.” 

Changeable and susceptible even in grief, she had 
been tossed about until now, spent and matured, 
she lay back in her chair, simply grateful for her 
mercies. Some time she would confess all to Eunice 
and Mrs. Olway. Now she craved only rest. 


BONDS OF LOVE. 


157 


While Vina was passing through the ‘‘deep 
waters” of her life, James Blake, her old Milston 
champion, was engrossed with the usual duties of 
an academy graduate. He had acquitted himself 
with credit, but he took his honors gravely. The 
love and respect of his classmates and teachers 
thrilled him with quiet exultation, and the thought 
of parting with them, made his heart swell with 
pain. Life assumed a serious aspect from his point 
of view. 

“ I am almost out in the world now,” he said to 
himself one night, during commencement week, 
“for the medical school is like taking up the pro- 
fession, as an apprentice, so to speak. I cannot 
hope for college in between, however tempting such 
a course of study may appear. Father thinks I 
have now gone very deep, but I never thought a 
graduate could know so little. I am only a shallow, 
superficial student. Indeed, I have hardly made a 
scratch upon the crust, to say nothing of boring to 
the very center of truth.” 

Mrs. Blake had not instilled her principles of 
thoroughness to no good purpose. 

“ Once out in the world,” he mused, “ when I 
get fairly started, I hope I will not have to go slow 
for long. She graduates too, mother says ; has been 
very brilliant, probably the leader of her class.” 
He took out his mother’s last letter, and read : 
“ ‘ Vina Parkes came home as usual with beautiful 
Miss Olway. Vina seems rather proud of herself, 
I fancy ; ’ yes, hasn’t she reason he interpolated, 
with a little indignation. “And yet, Vina might 
get too proud to take me — but no ; she’s with Miss 


158 


EUNICE. 


Olway. I have no fear, and I know she favored 
me once,” he added, with a sense of security as to 
probabilities. James never worried. 

It was not until he came home for a day or two 
— his mother did not see him graduate after all — 
that he learned of Mrs. Parkes’ death. He was 
greatly distressed, and said : 

Why, mother ! If I were not engaged to begin 
work so soon, I should go right out to the city and 
see Vina. It was hard for her!” He trembled 
with emotion, and his mother’s conjectures changed 
to convictions. . 

‘Wina Parkes is smart enough, but she is not 
steady enough for James,” Mrs. Blake thought, with 
annoyance mingled with a little jealousy. ‘‘ I hoped 
he would forget her. Of course I expect that 
James will marry some time, but not yet for ever 
so long, and I am sure he will meet plenty of girls 
more suitable, if not quite so clever. I would 
rather he would have some one you can depend 
upon summer and winter ; but I don’t condemn 
Vina for a flirt — no, not that — she is versatile, I 
guess. There is too great versatility. Now, there 
is Charles H. — but what a comparison.” 

James went over to see Mr. Radcliffe. He was 
greatly disappointed when neither his mother nor 
Mr. Radcliffe came to see him graduate ; but now 
he understood it. 

Mr. Radcliffe was in his study. 

James, my boy, my brother. I am heartily glad 
to see you,” he said, as he came forward to greet 
him in the hall. I knew your voice. Come right 
into my study. That will be cosier, and we can 


BONDS OF I.OVE. 


159 


talk more freely. I have wanted to have a talk with 
you. In fact, I was thinking of you as I heard you 
ask for me, at the door. 

« Mr. Radcliffe ! ” 

Brother ! interposed the other with a smile. 

‘‘ Yes, brother — for if any one deserves that name, 
it is you — I did so hope you would be out to see 
me graduate. Of course I know why,” and his 
great black eyes grew moist. ‘‘Did she take it 
hard he inquired, eagerly. 

“ I wanted to talk a little about her,” Mr. Rad- 
cliffe answered. “You,” he did not hesitate long, 
“ care for her very much, James ? ” 

James Blake grasped his outstretched hand in 
speechless acknowledgment. 

“There is something I must tell you,” Mr. Rad- 
cliffe continued, intending to get at the worst at 
once. “ You know about the sister } ” 

James bowed an affirmative. 

“ I have gotten track of her.” 

James' eyes widened. 

“ Yes,” he proceeded ; “ it came about in a strange 
way, humanly speaking. I saw her once, before 
coming here, although I did not dream it was she 
until about a year ago. It was in Brooklyn, and I 
was going through the worst part of the city with 
a friend, a detective, to get a clearer idea of that 
kind of life, and I saw her in one of the worst 
places. But now I have certain proof that it was she.” 

Mr. Radcliffe was keenly alive to the effect this 
disclosure would have upon James ; but he felt that 
it must be made. The most difficult part was yet to 
come. 


i6o 


EUNICE. 


‘‘ I first suspected that it was the sister from 
something in Vina’s face and manner, as she was 
relating an incident.” 

James recoiled visibly. Mr. Radcliffe had ex- 
pected it. There was an indignation in James' eyes 
that would have fortified Vina’s doubting heart. 
But James was moderate ; he did not say, How 
dare you intimate that Vina has a single trait like 
her sister ? ” He was only feeling what a curse it 
was to her — ‘‘innocent Vina.” Oh ! that he might 
save her from this sister. 

Mr. Radcliffe saw the struggle and said : 

“ Pardon me just for the present. It is hard, but 
you must face it; yes, face it, James, and right it. 
It can be done ! ” Ernest Radcliffe had a wonder- 
ful personal magnetism. It had been noticeable 
from his early boyhood. In the pulpit, he carried 
his hearers almost whither he would by his simple 
presence. 

“ Mr. Radcliffe, forgive me for thinking you un- 
kind ! ” James implored. 

Mr. Radcliffe reassured him, and proceeded. “ As 
I have studied it carefully, I must tell you my hon- 
est conviction, James. Vina is in many ways like 
her sister.” He went on firmly, though James’ face 
cut him like a knife. “ She has the same tempera- 
ment, and equal, if not superior gifts ; and a natural 
aptness for impersonation.” 

James started. 

“ She is susceptible, easily led ” 

“ How do you know all these traits belonged to 
the other } ” 

“ By careful inquiry, and through my friend, the 


BONDS OF I.OVK. l6l 

detective. But, of course, all strictly secret.'' Then 
he added, with more emotion, James, do you know 
I think her mother’s death has saved her. I mean 
with the preparation she had by being with Miss 
01 way." 

Saved her ! " 

‘‘Yes; from herself, and the impulse of her na- 
ture, perhaps ; she has the promise of true sweet- 
ness in her ; but it will take time. Now, James, I 
give this as a warning, for you ought to know. To 
take a wife is a most sacred thing. Be brave. Be 
hopeful. Above all, trust God, and pray for this 
one thing, if it is his will, and I believe you will 
have your desires crowned at last with the blessing 
— the best that can come to a man on earth — a vir- 
tuous woman, your counterpart." 

After a moment, James said, with trembling 
voice : 

“ Brother, I am glad you have told me all. I 
shall never give her up, and I know she will be 
always lovely; she will grow to be like Miss 01- 
way ! " 

“God grant it!" returned Mr. Radcliffe, like a 
mingled prayer and benediction. 

They sat silent for some time. Then James 
spoke of his immediate prospects, and some words 
of advice and encouragement were given on the one 
side, while expressions of earnest gratitude fell 
from the other’s lips, and then James went out into 
the night. 

Love has been called the “ greatest thing in the 
world.” 

Wisdom made the world, but love peopled and 

L 


i6z 


EUNICE. 


saved it, and love has been reigning in it ever since. 
What was it that transformed the first Eden into 
paradise, and afterward made the sweat-drops of 
labor sweet to the human brow when the. first 
criminals were shut outside the flaming ’’ gates ? 

What prolonged the siege of Troy ? What made 
fourteen years of service easy to Jacob, the wrestler 
at Jabbok ? Why did the taloned bird of prey tear 
open the heart of Rachel with anguish that could 
not be assuaged ; or what prompted the fry from 
David, O Absalom, my son, my son ? What 
sundered the heart of the Father, and drew the 
God-man to Calvary 

Love — love. The primal force of the universe, 
of which man’s share, as compared with the Al- 
mighty’s, is as zero to infinity. 

Meditation on love as an active force in the world, 
was occupying the thoughts of Ernest Radcliffe 
until long past midnight after the interview with 
James Blake. 

‘‘Strange that he should love her,” he mused, 
“if anything can be called strange. Now it is not 

strange that I ” He did not allow himself to 

formulate the sentence, but gave himself up to the 
thought of Eunice Olway, as it were, in a sort of 
trance. 

Another might have interpreted his mind, and 
said : 

“ What purity ! what womanly grace ! what self- 
sacrifice ! ” and he would have agreed with it ; 
but to him, she was simply Eunice. To him, as 
Mrs. Parkes might have said — and his eyes moist- 
ened at the remembrance — that name was just 


BONDS OF DOVE. 1 63 

another word for all that was womanly and virtuous 
and beautiful. 

Ernest Radcliffe looked at objects in masses, 
except when, for some reason, it was necessary to 
examine in detail. He once went so far as to say, 
Eunice is and then, after a moment of re- 

flection, added, inexpressible. I have seen her in 
the most trying situations, and she was always love- 
liness itself. I am not worthy of such a prize — but 
how gloriously we could work together ! She would 
inspire me to my ideal Christian heroism. God 
moves in a mysterious way ; but now I begin to see 
why he put me here. Even though the prize be 
withheld, to have known her will be a constant in- 
spiration.” 

Ernest Radcliffe had not yet declared his love for 
Eunice Olway, even though he had been thrown 
with her a good deal of late. In truth, the circum- 
stances under which they had been placed made it 
seem selfish and ignoble to think of personal affairs. 
His individual love had, in a measure, been lost in 
his compassion for the others in whose service they 
had met. Moreover, his interest in the work of his 
charge absorbed him. But his love for Eunice 
Olway was like the breath he drew, none the less a 
reality, because he was by nature often unconscious 
of it. He had long since purposed to seize the 
prize, if possible, being one of the brave who de- 
serve the fair,” as his mother used to say whenever 
he brought her some dearly bought trophy. But to- 
night, all the strength of his manhood was concen- 
trated upon his personal love and personal hope ; and 
he felt more than ever before love’s solicitude. 


164 


EUNICE. 


“Has my sympathy with James’ anxiety turned 
into sympathy for myself ? I will wait no longer : 
but will seek the earliest opportunity.” 

In truth he had intuitively felt all along that his 
love would be reciprocated, but he had hardly dared 
harbor any more than this vague assurance. Yet, 
even this degree of hope made his eyes fairly leap, 
as he arose and stretched his arms above his head. 
Ernest Radcliffe had a certain majesty of propor- 
tion ; but there would have been an impression of 
grandeur if one could have seen him that night. 

This same evening, in their home in the city, 
Mrs. Olway said to her son : 

“Your friend, Mr. Radcliffe, has a manliness of 
countenance which is an inspiration.” 

Eunice was present at the time, and colored 
visibly, so that Garton, who was watching her, 
noticed it and mentioned it afterward to Lena. 

“Now, Garton,” Lena declared, “you may be 
sure Eunice never heard a word you said. She 
was probably writing a very sympathetic letter to 
one of her protegh^ and was excited.” 

“Ha! ha! wifie. You were quick to interpret 
the change of expression on the faces of our two 
masculine friends ; but,” — and he assumed his pe- 
culiar falsetto voice — “a woman needs to learn a 
thing or so, and it is so.” Then he added in his 
ordinary tone : “ Besides, you know Eunice never 
loses a word mother says.” 

“ I wonder why Richard has not been here lately ; 
he has called only once since the entertainment,” 
said Lena, straining her brown eyes in perplexity. 


BONDS OF LOVE. 1 65 

** Oh ! he is probably hunting up a second for his 
duel/’ he replied, nonchalantly. 

‘‘You wicked man ! ” returned his wife, laughing. 

Mr. Radcliffe had intended to go to the city the 
day following James’ visit, but he was called to 
attend the funeral of a child out in the country. 
The following day was Sunday ; so it was Monday 
before he rang the bell at the Elmwood Avenue 
entrance of the Olway mansion. 

“Miss Olway is not in,” said Molly. “She’s 
gone out in the carriage with Vina ; but she’ll be 
back soon, I guess.” 

Molly was anxious to please the gentleman, for 
she had made a sort of hero of him ever since she 
saw him at Mr. Carton Olway’s dinner table. 

“ Isn’t he commanding like ? but I wouldn’t be 
afraid of him a mite, neither ! ” she had said rather 
boastfully to the waitress on that occasion. 

But she explained to Mr. Radcliffe : 

“The little girl is not well, and rides make her 
feel better. Oh, but,” — a sudden thought seemed 
to occur to her — “ Miss Olway is going to Milston 
afterward. I heard her tell the coachman so. 
Maybe ” 

“Thank you ; I will not wait.” He did not offer 
his card. 

“ Shall I tell her ? ” she asked, hesitatingly. 

“No, I will call again.” 

He was just crossing the street a block away, 
when a carriage stopped, and a voice called — 

“ Mr. Radcliffe ! ” 

He lifted his hat and stepped up to the carriage, 
offering his hand to Miss Olway and Vina. 


i66 


EUNICE. 


“ I was just wishing to see you/' She had spoken 
on the first impulse, and now was consciously 
blushing. 

Mr. Radcliffe was too happy to notice any slight 
embarrassment, and answered. 

‘‘I have but this moment come away from your 
house, and my call was very urgent." He ended 
with a peculiar , smile. 

‘‘ Will you get in ” she asked, moving along on 
the seat. She sat facing Vina, and was riding back- 
ward. 

Thank you," he answered, taking a seat beside 

her. 

Then he talked to Vina, showing regard for her 
health and feelings in such a way that she forgot 
herself for a moment. 

‘‘ Do you feel like riding a little longer, dear ? " 
Eunice asked, looking tenderly at Vina. 

No, Miss Eunice, I feel tired now." 

Mrs. Olway came to the door to meet Vina, and 
Eunice was uncertain whether to alight and invite 
Mr. Radcliffe in, or simply explain to him that she 
was going to spend the night at her uncle’s in Mil- 
ston ; but the driver started on — he was merely 
carrying out previous orders. 

Before she could interpose, Mr. Radcliffe laid a 
deterring hand on hers and said : 

Oh, do let him go on ! I know where you are 
going, and I have longed for an opportunity to be 
with you." 

She could say nothing; a mysterious intuition 
kept her silent. 

He went on more earnestly : 


BONDS OF I,OVE. 


167 


I know now why I was led to Milston ; for all 
the rest is summed up in this one reason : you were 
at Milston — and I love you.’* 

He leaned a trifle nearer her. 

‘‘ I love you — is my hope realized ? ” 

His face was beaming with confidence, yet he 
would make quite sure. It is easy to endure sus- 
pense when one knows what the result will be. 

Eunice Olway looked her answer ; and they sat 
in outward silence, made vocal to their ears by the 
voices which have echoed down from paradise. 

At last she spoke : Heaven seems very near ! ” 
Our heaven on earth,” he answered. The man- 
liness which Mrs. Olway had noted in his face was 
almost sublime now. “ With you by my side, we 
can make heaven on earth for many ! ’ ’ 

‘‘ Oh, it will be glorious ! ” she said, trembling. 

The sight of her face so thrilled him that he 
could not speak. 

Finally he whispered: <^One in him, and in all 
his thought ! ” 

They uttered these and other such words at in- 
tervals, totally unconscious of the fact that the 
roads were delightfully smooth ; that the air smelled 
of genuine June, or that the sky was like mother- 
of-pearl. For a long time even they were unmind- 
ful of the grassy roadside, and the promising 
meadows that stretched away into a hazy vista. 
What did it matter to them whether they were in 
city or country, in June or December, when spirit 
blent with spirit ? 

What did they know or care, that the driver — • 
well-meaning man though he was — had noticed the 


EUNICE. 


l68 

tall gentleman, and had a pardonable curiosity to 
see him seated by the side of his young lady.’' 

He must look grand in a carriage," he argued. 

Solely from this aesthetic standpoint, of course, 
Tom glanced around and looked down upon the two 
— the taller form bending slightly toward the other. 

‘‘ Sure ! they’re mighty earnest — they talk so 
low." 

Then he muttered to himself : ‘‘ I guess he means 
business, an’ I guess she’s goin’ pardner. Well ! 
he’s the first I’ve seen in an age that ought to 
stand any chance. Yet there is another gentle- 
man ! an I kin’ o’ took to him fur her ; but I guess 
like he’s aristocracy — an’ she’d no go that. She’s 
fur feedin’ the poor. None o’ yer sittin up in silks 
an’ velvets fur her ! " 

Tom took a paternal interest in all that concerned 
Miss Olway, but he was obedient as any serf. 

^^Oh, Ernest!" Eunice ejaculated, softly. ‘‘I 
wanted to speak about " 

^‘Ah! I interrupted you," he said, committing 
the offense again, but with the air of one who ex 
pects to be forgiven. My errand was most im 
portant, you know." But seeing her self-reproach, 
he asked gravely, What is it, my love ? " 

It is about Celia. I want more information. I 
want to try to find her." 

Ernest had questioned Eunice in regard to Celia’s 
character, feeling that he could not dispense with 
her judgment in so important an investigation ; and 
then, without previously intending it, he had told 
her of his suspicions; and later, the news from 
‘‘Joe," concerning Celia’s sudden disappearance. 


BONDS OF IvOVE. 


169 


Eunice now wished to consult him as to the de- 
sirability of Joe’s’' attempting to find Celia, not 
knowing that he had already committed his friend 
to the undertaking. 

‘‘ Oh, if we can only find her ! ” exclaimed Eunice. 
“ Love will bring her back,” she continued, with 
eyes that' could not smile, lost in their own happi- 
ness alone. 

Be sure, dear ; love has kept her, and love will 
bring her back, I feel sure, some time ; for his love 
has free course in you to will and to do of his own 
good pleasure, and be sure it is his pleasure to let 
you lead her home — at last ! ” 

No spoken words of assurance had ever strength- 
ened her faith as these — not even her mother’s. 

Mrs. Parkes’ house at Milston was to be sold, 
and whatever was left after the mortgage was paid, 
together with a small sum which Mrs. Parkes had 
saved out of her dressmaking by rigid economy after 
Miss Olway had undertaken Vina’s support, was to 
be divided equally between the children if Celia 
returned ; otherwise all was Vina’s, so said Mrs. 
Parkes’ simple will. Of her personal effects, Mrs. 
Parkes left a keepsake for Miss Olway, and one for 
Mr. Radcliffe, together with a letter of loving grati- 
tude. She also left a letter each to Vina and 
Celia; the message to the latter overflowed with 
tender forgiveness, which was pathetic in the ex- 
treme. 

The lovers found a moment to speak of these 
things before parting that night, and to rejoice that 
they had been privileged to make Mrs. Parkes’ life 
a little easier. 


CHAPTER XII. 


PLANS AND PURPOSES. 

What we call little things are merely the causes of great 
things . — AmieL 

A bout a week later, while the family was at 
lunch, Carton said to Lena : 

‘‘ I saw Richard to-day, wifie.” 

Suddenly Dora asked, in a high key : ‘‘ Why 
doesn’t Uncle Richard come here to dinner } He 
is just naughty ! Papa, you tell him I won’t for- 
give him if he don’t come to-night.” 

‘‘Nor I,” shouted Hollister, so loudly that his 
mother remonstrated : 

“ Hollis, you are not a gentleman now. Uncle 
Richard would never shout like that.” 

The children always called Mr. Winthrop “ Uncle 
Richard.” 

“It is dreadful. Carton. It is just dreadful,” 
Lena said, with a sigh. 

“ Of course it is dreadful,” Hollis repeated, with 
scarcely less animation than before. 

“ I know he called one day, and no knowing but 
Eunice ” 

“ Why doesn’t Auntie Eunice ask Uncle Richard 
to come ? ” demanded Hollis. 

And Dora answered, with disgust : “ Holly, 
Auntie Eunice doesn’t like Uncle Richard.” 


170 


PI.ANS AND PURPOSES. 


171 

She doesn’t ? ” exclaimed Hollis. Well, I 
don’t like Auntie Eunice ! She’s naughty,” he 
added, with great superiority. 

What makes you think Aunt Eunice does not 
like Uncle Richard, Dora.^^” asked their father, 
with suppressed amusement. 

’Cause I heard mamma say Aunt Eunice would 

not come to see him one time when ” 

^‘But that is not a good reason, Dora. Never say 
so again, dear, because it is not true.” 

Dora looked hurt, so he added : Never mind, 
Dody, you misunderstood mamma.” 

Carton thought best not to say any more about 
Mr. Winthrop before the children ; but just as he was 
leaving for his office, he kissed them good-bye, and 
sent them to the nursery, retaining Lena in the hall. 

Richard promised to dine with us to-morrow, 
when I told him. I will tell you just what he said, 
and you may judge for yourself. He looked a little 
pale anyway, before I spoke ; said he’d been very 
busy. After a moment, I said : ‘ Oh, look here, 
Richard ; I have some news for you ; my sister is 
engaged to Radcliffe.’ I went on to say that I 
* might have suspected something to happen when 
they met so often at Milston.’ ” 

“ How did he take it ? ” asked Lena. 

‘^A flash of lightning seemed to pass over his 
face ; but, in an instant he looked apparently un- 
harmed. I almost believe you were right, Lena. 
But if it is so, Richard is the prince of heroism — 
for he congratulated me sincerely on having Rad- 
cliffe for a brother, and said he never knew of a 
better match.” 


EUNICE. 


172 

‘‘It will kill him, Garton. He has always had 
everything he wanted. Poor Richard ! 

“ Dear, you must not feel so. Men do not take 
these things like women. Of course it will cut 
terribly at first ; but he will rise above it, and in 
time it will wear off.” 

“ Oh, Garton ! ” Lena returned ; “you men are so 
heartless. But Richard is more like a woman, and 
he will suffer like a woman.” She had once main- 
tained that Richard had the best qualities of a man 
and woman combined. 

Garton was always amused by her extravagant 
praise, knowing that he had not the shadow of a 
reason to be jealous. 

“ Perhaps so, dearie ; you understand him, I know. 
It is sad ; but Radcliffe is grand, although you will 
not so much as look to see. And Eunice is not to 
blame. It would almost spoil her happiness if she 
knew she had ruined another’s.” 

“ Of course I know ; we must not reproach 
her. But it seems awful to me, when I had ex- 
pected ” 

“ Y es, wifie ; you expected, and are so much the 
more disappointed. But she could not marry both, 
you know ; and I should hate to have one disap- 
pointed as much as the other. Besides, you now 
can help Richard, perhaps. Your sympathy, even 
though unspoken, may help to heal the wound.” 

“ Still, I am afraid it will kill him,” she persisted. 

Ernest Radcliff was on his way to Milston that 
afternoon, as blissfully unconscious that his happi- 
ness was a cross to any one else, as Lena was con- 
scious of wishing that he had never met Eunice. 


PI.ANS AND PURPOSES. 1 73 

all comes of Eunice's ruling passion for 
mission work/' she affirmed. 

Ernest Radcliffe felt that success was everywhere 
crowning his efforts ; but his great joy was tem^ 
pered with a sense of unworthiness. Yet even 
now, he did not dwell long upon himself. He was 
going to Mrs. Blake's, and hoped that he would find 
her alone, for he wished to talk about her son. 

His wish was not gratified, however, for Mrs. 
Doty was making a neighborly call. 

Well, Mr. Radcliffe ! I was just saying to Mrs. 
Blake that great things have been going on in this 
place since you came. You and Miss Olway just 
started us to work. To think of it, as I said to 
Pete, here is a new meeting-house almost done, and 
everybody interested. And what is more, the cash 
all paid for it. But Pete always says, ‘ Mrs. Doty, 
there are folks who move, and there are folks who 
move things, and you and I are not the last.' " 

The new church is an achievement," Mrs. Blake 
responded, cordially. ‘‘James said he was very 
proud of it ; and it did him so much good to see 
the boys again, — the ones who used to be so rough, 
— and find them such sturdy young men, and as 
interested in the church as they formerly were in 
plaguing old Mother Brown." • 

“We do not realize what possibilities are lying 
in coarse material," said the minister. “ We have 
not all eyes that can see the angel in the block of 
marble." 

“ Nor the block of marble in the angel, neither," 
said Mrs. Blake, with an intelligent smile at Mr. 
Radcliffe. 


174 


EUNICE. 


As Mrs. Doty looked hopelessly confused, she 
explained : You would not believe that stool 

there,” pointing to a handsomely cushioned otto- 
man, ^^was once an old nail keg. Just the same 
way,, some day you will not dream that Tom Shaw 
was once a young bully.” 

When the conversation took this practical turn, 
Mrs. Doty was at her ease again. ‘‘ That is so ; 
that is so,” she affirmed. Then she arose and 
exclaimed : Now, Mrs. Blake, do not come to the 
door. I saw Pete was coming, and I thought I 
would get out in time, for Pete is in a hurry to-day, 
as we are going to Jennie’s.” 

Now Mr. Radcliffe could talk of James, who was 
a favorite topic with them. Mrs. Blake implicitly 
trusted her pastor’s judgment, and she already con- 
sidered him her son’s guardian. Mr. Radcliffe, 
moreover, always felt sure of her co-operation. 

‘‘James made you quite a call the other night,” 
Mrs. Blake began. “To tell the truth, I was jealous 
of you ; he was here such a little while.” 

“ Yes ; ” Mr. Radcliffe replied, not quite sure how 
to proceed. 

“He wanted to know all about the funeral, no 
doubt ? ” she asked ; and then with a facial expres- 
sion peculiar to her, added : “ but was more con- 
cerned for the living than the dead, possibly ? ” 

“I thought you suspected, but was not quite 
sure,” Mr. Radcliffe answered, with relief. “Yes, 
we had quite a talk about Vina. I had to tell James 
something which was very painful ; but happily I 
could assure him that I thought it would come 
right in the end, if he will wait.” 


PI.ANS AND PURPOSES. 


175 


Mrs. Blake was all attention. 

Oh ! Mr. Radcliffe, I think he wanted to tell 
me, but he just could not. I never saw him so cut 
up, as he was that night. I sat up to wait for him ; 
and I knew in a minute it was about her ; and I just 
could not say anything, either,’' she confessed, the 
tears coming to her eyes. 

‘‘ This is secret, of course,” Mr. Radcliffe began: 
‘‘ You remember the other daughter ? ” 

Mrs. Blake gave a quick start. 

‘‘ Every one supposed she was simply heartless : 
but,” he added, sadly, '' she has wandered far in sin. 
I have accurate knowledge of that fact. As to 
where she is now, I know nothing, except that she 
disappeared suddenly from what was once her 
abode.” 

Mrs. Blake was agitated. I never saw her, but 
I have not liked Vina’s ways lately.” Her mother- 
jealousy could not be restrained from this outburst. 
^‘She seems so unstable,” she explained, modifying 
her tone. 

That is it ! Not that we should think of con- 
demning the poor child ; that would be simply bar- 
barism” — this with almost savage warmth. ‘‘But 

traits live in the blood ; and a wife ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” Mrs. Blake ejaculated. “ Never ! ” 
“Mrs. Blake,” Mr. Radcliffe spoke very gently, 
“your son is a man now. He will think for him- 
self ; but the great thing is that he shall wait. The 
best influences have been at work, and they will 
bring forth good results, I am sure. But we must 
wait for the first-fruits. Now I come to my plan. 
We have never questioned that it would be well for 


176 


EUNICE. 


James to go through college, before taking up medi- 
cine. It seemed an impossibility. Mrs. Blake, it is 
not an impossibility. I have obtained a scholarship 
for him, and see other ways and means. It need 
cost yoiir husband nothing but his consent. To be 
sure, it will add a little extra burden to James : he 
could not get into business so soon, but he is young. 
If he only has not lost his ambition for college ! 
This did not occur to me until after he left. But it 
would be better for you to persuade him to take my 
offer, and go. It is the best thing for him anyway, 
and it will avert all danger.” 

‘^Oh, Mr. Radcliffe! You are so kind, and you 
always know just what is wise. How I admire 
such a head for things ! ” She forgot herself in her 
gratitude. ‘5 Shall I write to him ? ” 

‘‘Yes; I would do so right away. He needs' 
some new prospect to take up his mind.” 

“ But, John ! ” and a shade crossed her face ; “ he 
is worrying now because James has wasted so many 
years, as he says. But I will bring him around,” 
she added, with regained confidence. 

And she did. 

When James first read the letters his heart 
bounded with pleasure. “ Go to college ! Not 
impossible,” he repeated. 

But then he reflected. “ It would take so long — 
four years, and three more after that, besides getting 
started in practice. I might have some debts too. 
Oh ! I could not stand it so long, with no hope of 
ever being any way but alone.” 

He put his head down upon his clasped hands. 

“ Oh, Vinie, you are lovely. There is no danger. 


PLANS AND PURPOSES. 


177 

I will dare them all for you, Vinie ; for I believe 
you will not be frivolous. I have trusted you ever 
since that night. But if I go — it will be so long — 
so long! Yet college; I cannot miss such an 
opportunity.” 

“There is a tide in the affairs of men.” 

He had been learning some quotations of late, 
and this just now flashed across his memory. 

“ I must seize it. Then fortune will come — good 
fortune with Vinie.” 

When he looked up, he wore a hopeful counte- 
nance ; and that night he wrote to his mother that 
he would accept Mr. Radcliffe’s kind offer. 

While James was making this important decision, 
Vina was amusing the children during the intervals 
between their steam-coach trips. Hollis was en- 
gineer, and Dora was conductor ; and every little 
while they would stop at some place and visit the 
ticket agent, who sat back in a cosy wicker-chair, 
reading, or pretending to read, a book. But this 
had no incongruity for their childish imaginations. 
The engineer usually called for a story as remuner- 
ation for his heavy work. Then, perhaps, he needed 
a little more material for steam. 

“ Vinie Parkes, you are a stupid I You have not 
told us a new story to-day,” shouted the engineer, 
with a note of disgust in his voice. 

“ There are no new stories. Holly ; they are all 
the same old ones fixed over a little.” 

“ Well, I thought so ; why didn’t you tell me so 
before ? Then I would not have stopped to listen.” 

“Holly,” exclaimed Dora, “you are too noisy 
for an engineer. Uncle Richard would not do so.” 

M 


178 


EUNICE. 


Now see nere, Body, I am not Uncle Richard, 
and you need not think you are my mamma. I am 
an engineer,” and he rushed off puffing and screech- 
ing like a veritable young savage engine just put 
under steam. 

Between these visits, Vina had time to think, 
which was about all the mental effort she was per- 
mitted. Mrs. Olway and Eunice devised various 
means to engross her attention, when not walking 
or riding. Vina succumbed to this treatment — list- 
lessly at first, and later gratefully. She was spent 
with her struggle and sorrow, and enjoyed nothing 
so well as sitting in the nursery with the children. 
They enjoyed it equally well, for she allowed them 
to do anything they liked with her. The only draw- 
back was that grandma had said they must not 
expect Vina to romp and play as she used to do. 

When the children were first told of Vina’s 
sorrow, they were filled with sympathy, and went 
about quietly for a time — a very short time, how- 
ever, for Hollis and Noise were twin brothers. 
Dora would often whisper to herself, Poor Vina ! ” 
They both showed their sympathy in various little 
acts, but when they had been told to suppress their 
questions, it proved too much for Hollis. The 
restrained curiosity must have vent at last. 

Would it make me sick if my mamma died, and 
would people whisper about me, and put me in a 
rocking-chair like ” But just then he was sud- 

denly called to recollection by the aid of Dora’s 
hand which had been placed over his mouth hastily, 
lest Vina should hear, and after his first indignation, 
he rushed off with a suppressed exclamation. 


PI.ANS AND PURPOSES 1 79 

Vina indulged in one of her old smiles. It was 
good for her to be with these active, little interro- 
gation points. 

How different it all seems ! ” she thought. 

Once I could play horse or anything with them, 
but now. Oh ! I would not care to. I just like to 
watch them when they think I am reading.” 

She did not like to revert to the recent past. It 
was all gone now, like a horrible dream.. For a 
long time afterward she could not endure the 
memory of that fatal night. She did not care to 
see Mrs. Garton Olway or go near that room, where 
her fevered brain had revelled in a garden beneath 
whose roses a deadly viper had stung her. 

Neither she nor Mrs. Olway had spoken of it to 
Eunice as yet. The circumstances which had 
followed made all those associations too painful. 
But Lena had said to Garton : 

‘‘ How terrible it was for the child to go from the 
gayety and success here to meet such news.” 

Yes ; such things are not the best preparation 
for life’s realities,” Garton had replied. 

Now, though the thought ’ of that time still 
haunted her, Vina tried to turn her eyes away from 
its glamour. 

‘‘ I cannot speak of it yet,” she said Oh, I can 
never be the same; for I gave it all up.” She 
shuddered. Miss Eunice says God never changes, 
and if we give up a thing, we give it to him, and 
can never have it back again the same.” 

What makes you shake so ? Are you cold, or 
are you reading a frightful story asked Dora, 
really quite concerned. 


EUNICE. 


1 8,0 

No, I am not cold, Body,"’ Vina answered, 
drawing the sweet little face nearer to hers. I 
was only thinking of something horrible.’' 

In the story book ? ” 

No, Dora, don’t let us talk of it. What have 
you there ? ” 

Oh ! only my puncher,” she said, holding up a 
tin contrivance. Holly bent it so it would punch 
tickets. I have to be very careful to punch them 
all.” 

But as she saw that Vina still looked sad, her 
affection all came out at once in a tremendous hug 
and kisses. Vina had not been in such a shower 
of them since she was a child with the children. 

What is all this fuss, you silly girls ? ” (The 
little boys in the streets called the girls silly, and 
Hollis never forgot what he overheard.) ‘‘Nice 
conductor, you are ! ” he remarked, disdainfully. 

“Holly, you are just horrid; and I will not 
play ! ” 

“Yes, you will play too,” he said, softening 
a little. 

“Yes, dear,” said Vina, “if Holly will be good. 
You see he cannot get along at all without a girl, 
even though she is silly.” 

Hollis knew when he was beaten better than 
some older boys, and he went off to his smoke- 
stack, with becoming gravity. 

About a week later, on one of those delightful 
days in the latter part of July, Vina and Miss 
Olway started down town, rather late in the after- 
noon, and took Dora with them. They might have 
had the carriage, but they preferred walking, at 


PLANS AND PURPOSES l8l 

least part of the way, and Dora enjoyed the 
street-car better, since her own experience as con- 
ductor. 

Vina intended to return home after they had 
been to the drug store, but Miss Olway was going 
farther, to make a call or so before returning. Dora 
was yet undecided as to which one she would favor 
with her company ; but she coaxed Vina to go on 
with them to the confectionery and bakery, holding 
out the inducement that she ‘‘guessed” she would 
go with Vina. 

Dora bought a generous supply of cakes and 
candy, for she carried her own little purse, and 
shopped like a woman ; and the three started out 
of the store together. They were obliged to pass 
through a poor, deserted quarter, before coming to 
a line of fancy stores at the corner, near which the 
party was to separate. Dora was still undecided 
which to go with, but Vina began to think she was 
to be abandoned. 

No one ever knew how it happened, but Vina 
said to Dora : 

“ Dody, I want to run in here a moment, will 
you come, or ” 

And Dora interupted : “ All right, you go on,” 
and thereupon turned about, and started off toward 
Eunice. 

Vina took this as a final dismissal, and thought 
no more of the child, but soon started on toward 
home. ^ 

Meanwhile, something in another shop window 
had attracted Miss Olway’s eye. It was just the 
thing to take to the little sick boy whom she was 


i 82 


EUNICE. 


going to visit. When she came out, neither Vina 
nor Dora was anywhere to be seen. 

I thought Dora would go home at the last,’' 
she said, and smiled to herself as she imagined 
Dora laughing with her over the joke, when she 
put the children to bed at night. She too turned 
down her corner, and walked on, thinking only of 
those she was about to visit, and of what she might 
say to cheer and comfort them. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THERE WERE NINETY AND NINE. 

A little child shall lead them. 

Truth and love are the two most powerful things in the 
world, and when they go together they cannot be easily 
withstood. The golden beams of truth and the silken cords 
of love, twisted together, will draw men on with a sweet 
violence, whether they will or no. — R. IV. Dale. 

lAID Dora go right to the nursery asked 

iJ Mrs. Olway, in some surprise, as Eunice 
entered the ‘^confidence room’' soon after her 
return. 

“ What do you mean, mother ? Dora came home 
with Vina,” Eunice said. 

Vina looked up questionly. 

“Didn’t Dora go with you ? ” exclaimed Vina. 

“No,” Eunice answered, in consternation. 

. All three looked horrified. 

Then Mrs. Olway asked : “ Where is she } ” 

Eunice sat down and covered her face with her 
hands ; but Vina sobbed : 

“ What shall we do ? What shall we do ” 

After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Olway 
said : 

“Garton must know immediately. You can tell 
where you separated. The carriage will go out ; 
everything must be done. I know God will not let 

183 


184 


EUNICE. 


harm come to her, his darling,” she added, as a tear 
stole down her cheek. 

‘‘How frightened she will be ! How ever could 
it have happened ? I was very careless not to no- 
tice,” said Eunice, upbraiding herself. “ No, Vina, 
it wasn’t your fault, so much ; I ought not to have 
allowed you to go into the store.” 

She was acting at the same time that she was 
speaking. She called up Garton by telephone and 
gave him the painful message, with suggestions 
from her mother. She was out after Tom in another 
instant, asking him to harness immediately. 

Vina meanwhile thought : “ What if some harm 
has come to her ! ” And was in great distress as she 
imagined Dora in the hands of some cruel person. 

Mrs. Olway thought best to keep the news from 
Lena, as it would only give her useless anxiety. 
Fortunately, Lena was out making calls at the time, 
having left Hollis at her own mother’s until she 
should call for him on her return, and so there was 
no danger of her coming in suddenly to ask what 
was the matter. 

Soon Tom was at the door, and Miss Olway and 
Vina entered the carriage to go to the place where 
they had separated, and hunt through the streets 
and stores near by, if necessary. Action made sus- 
pense easier. Mrs. Olway bore the severest strain, 
as she prayed alone by her sitting-room window. 

Garton was almost sick at the news ; but he 
thought : “ Poor wife ! She will be frantic ! ” 

His sister had not thought to tell him that Lena 
was yet in ignorance. He sent out messengers to 
the police stations ; he sent others in various direc- 


THERE WKRK ninety AND NINE. 185 

tions, with descriptions of the child ; he went out 
himself, hardly knowing where he should go. But 
fortunately he met Richard Winthrop. The latter, 
seeing Carton’s white face, asked : 

‘‘ Carton, what is the matter ? Is Lena sick ? ” 

Dora ! Dora is lost ! ” was the answer. 

They went on together, Richard Winthrop finding 
out what had already been done and suggesting 
other lines of action. His presence and sympathy 
were as a soothing balm to Carton, for the latter 
had never been so crushed as at that moment. 

‘‘ My tender, timid, little Dora, lost in this great, 
heartless city ! ” The thought was unbearable. 

He suffered a double portion — for Lena as well 
as himself. Richard Winthrop also suffered, for he 
was very fond of the little maiden. 

Meanwhile, Miss Olway and Vina were walking 
up and down the streets, peering into all the alleys, 
and making fruitless inquiries at all the stores. No 
one had seen anything of a little girl straying alone. 
They tried to imagine what Dora would do. 

She would ask some one to take her home, per- 
haps,” suggested Vina, inwardly filled with terrible 
doubts ; she would cry, though, and be very fright- 
ened at first.” 

I am afraid she has tried to go by herself and 
gotten lost,” returned Miss Olway. No, that can- 
not be ! If she only thought to tell them her name, 
and that her father was the editor, people would 
know.” 

^‘She is not here — anywhere, that is certain,” 
declared Vina, after their last thorough search. 

What shall we do ? ” 


i86 


EUNICE). 


Let us go to Carton's office," replied Miss 
Olway, more hopefully. ‘‘ Perhaps some one has 
found her." 

No ; no one had found her. Carton and Richard 
had but just entered, thinking of the same possi- 
bility. This was the first time that Richard Win- 
throp had seen Miss Olway since her engagement 
had been announced. The general agitation made 
the meeting easier than might otherwise have been 
expected. 

As they were consulting together, a telephone 
message came from Mrs. Olway to the effect that 
Dora had been brought home by a stranger. 

I thought she would persuade somebody to go 
home with her," was Vina's first remark after the 
good news ; but she spoke in a different tone from 
the one she had used when she had previously 
made a similar statement. 

When Dora told Vina to ^‘go on," she had just 
caught sight of a queer, crouching figure on some 
steps in an alley near by. Dora could plainly see 
that it was a woman, and that she looked dejected 
and distressed. It would be so nice," the little 
maid thought, to give the woman a cake and make 
her look up, and it would be fun to frighten Vina, 
and then run out when Vina was sure she was lost. 

This was a strange fancy for Dora ; but the child 
had acted unlike herself in being so undecided. It 
was not like her. Some impulse seemed to have 
seized her, and before she realized it she was stand- 
ing before the woman, whose head was bowed upon 
her hands. 

Dora gently touched the woman's arm, and glee- 



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Eunice. 


Page 187. 



THERE WERE NINETY AND NINE. 1 87 

fully held out a huge, luscious cake. After a while 
the woman started, and looked up vacantly. She 
appeared to be dazed, and put her hands to her 
head. Then she passed one hand across her eyes, 
as if she could not trust her vision. 

Eat it, won’t you ? ” Dora asked, with her most 
coaxing smile. 

No, this was no angel. It was real flesh and 
blood. The woman looked first at the child, then 
at the cake ; back at the child again, and then she 
hesitated no longer, but held out a long, thin hand 
to receive the proffered gift. She began crunching 
it with evident pleasure, and the sight was appetiz- 
ing. Dora took out two more, and gave the woman 
a glimpse into the bag. 

See what a lot ! ” she exclaimed, gleefully, be- 
ginning to bite into one herself. Isn’t it awful 
good.^” Dora queried, a moment later, enjoying her 
new friend’s appreciation. 

The woman nodded, still gazing at the child. 

By this time Dora had forgotten all about her 
little stratagem, and Miss Olway and Vina had gone 
quite a distance. 

Soon our friends in the alley began on their sec- 
ond cakes, and Dora asked, with sympathetic curi- 
osity, as she laid one little hand timidly on the 
woman’s knee, and looked up into her face : 

‘‘ What makes you stay out here ? Why don’t 
you go in ” nodding toward the rickety building 
behind them, which looked as though inhabited by 
rats and midnight ghosts. 

I don’t belong here,” the woman answered, in 
a hoarse whisper. 


i88 


EUNICE). 


Then after a moment’s reflection, Dora con- 
tinued : 

Where do you belong ? ” 

Little dear, I don’t belong anywhere,” the 
woman answered, and her chin quivered. 

At this sign Dora looked at her with childish 
sympathy and pity, and said, in a whisper, ‘‘ Dody’s 
sorry.” 

The woman was not accustomed to such treat- 
ment. The tears fairly streamed from her eyes, 
and her frame shook with suppressed sobs. 

Then Dora laid one arm around the woman’s 
neck, which was bowed upon her knees, and said, 
in accents of childish tenderness : 

Poor woman ! Dody’s awful sorry.” But pres- 
ently, as a new thought occurred to her, she whis- 
pered : Don’t cry any more ; don’t, because Dody 
will take you home with her to her house. Dody’s 
got a house — a great big house ; and Dody’s papa 
and Auntie Eunie and grandma will love you, — oh, 
lots ! They love everybody,” she added. 

She was so absorbed in trying to stop the 
woman’s tears that even the name of Eunice did 
not recall her to her situation. 

‘‘ If anybody’s awful sorry,” the child continued, 
grandma puts them on the couch in her room, 
and covers them all up, and kisses them and tells 
them stories till they go to sleep and forget all 
about it.” She was growing eloquent with assur- 
ance. Because Vinie was awful sorry too, and 
now she isn’t,” she added, triumphantly. 

Few physicians had such a persuasive advocate 
as grandma. 


THERE WERE ninety AND NINE. 189 

The sobs grew fewer ; and after Dora had tried 
several times very gently to raise the bowed face 
with her soft little hands, the woman lifted her head 
again and looked at Dora from beneath her swollen 
eyelids. Dora smiled at her lovingly. That fresh 
little face framed in careless ringlets of fine-spun 
gold was sweet enough to rivet the eyes of more 
fortunate mortals than this woman appeared to be. 

“ My name is Dody — Dody Olway. What’s your 
name ? ” asked the child. 

“ Dody } ” repeated the woman. “ Dody > ” And 
then she looked so searchingly at the child that 
Dora added : 

“Oh, well! I am really Dora; but I like 
‘Dody’ best. Holly— that’s my baby brother— 
he calls me Dody, and so does Auntie Eunie, and 
grandma sometimes. Oh, yes, and Vinie too. 
But mamma calls me Dora, and papa, — well I I 
guess he calls me a— a— a dear.’’ This recital car- 
ried her so far from the original question that she 
forgot to press it further. 

“ Yes, yes !’’ the woman again repeated. “Can 
it be ? ” But she had scarcely enough strength 
left to arouse further curiosity. 

Suddenly Dora exclaimed: “O — hi” and a 
frightened look came into the little face. She 
dated off in an instant, but stopped on the sidewalk, 
looking about quickly, from one side to another; 
then she turned around and said : “ Oh, they have 
gone and left me I ” and ran back to the woman, 
while the tears began to well over. 

“ What is the matter, little dear > Has some one 
left you ? ” 


KUNiCE. 


190 

^‘Auntie Eunie/' she whispered, ^^and Vina,'’ 
beginning to cry, ‘‘they have forgotten me." 

“Never mind, little dear! We will see if we 
can find them," said the woman, trying to rise, and 
standing up with difficulty. - 

Dora’s tears were dried, and her face brightened. 
“ I know the way home," she said, reflecting. “ I 
can find papa’s house, if you will go with me." 

“ I go with you ? " repeated the woman, wonder- 
ingly. “ I was not intending to go to any house. 

I was going " and a shiver passed through her 

frame, but she did not finish. 

The child gathered up her bag, and took the 
woman’s hand confidently, pulling her along. 

“ See ; we go this way. Are you afraid you will 
break to pieces ? " Dora asked, innocently, looking 
up. The question brought the first smile she had 
seen on her companion’s lips. 

“ No ; I am only tired, and " 

“We will take the street-car. Do you know 
which car we take ? " Dora asked, beginning to 
doubt her own infallibility. 

The woman put her hand to her head, as they 
walked on. 

Dora was prattling about how nice it was to ride 
in the cars, and how she herself had punched 
tickets, when the woman said : 

“ Here, little dear, you get on this car, and it will 
take you home. Good-bye, little dear." 

But Dora was dismayed ; she clung to the 
woman’s hand with all her small strength, and her 
chin quivered. “ Oh, don’t go : don’t leave me all 
alone, please ! ’’ 


THERE WERE ninety AND NINE. I91 

The car was stopping ; the woman hesitated no 
longer, but said : 

‘‘Just as you say, little dear,’' and they entered. 

They were an odd-looking couple ; the tall, thin 
woman, in shabby clothes, led by the hand of a fresh, 
daintily dressed child. There was something notice- 
able about the woman, however, though she was 
evidently very poor. Dora assumed the air of pro- 
prietorship, paying fare for the two with elaborate 
carefulness. 

When they left the car, all eyes were turned in 
their direction, and many wondered, and others 
thought that “ something ought to be done about 
it.” But nothing was done, and the two trudged 
on up beautiful Elmwood avenue, treading upon 
their lengthening shadows, which hovered before 
them like ministering spirits commissioned to lead 
these lost ones home. 

The rejoiced but weary seekers for Dora did not 
reach the house before Mrs. Olway had fondled the 
child enough for them all, and had brought Dora’s 
friend into her own room, where she began talking 
to her kindly and asking friendly questions. 

“ We owe you deep gratitude for bringing our 
darling home,” Mrs. Olway said. 

“No, grandma; I brought her home with 
interrupted Dora. “ She hasn’t any house, — and 
now she will live with us, won’t she, grandma.? ” 

“ Perhaps, dear, she might not wish to,” answered 
Mrs. Olway, looking again at the poorly clad figure. 

Before entering the house, the woman had nearly 
covered her face with an old drab veil, that hung 
loosely from her limp straw hat. A thin black 


192 


EUNICE. 


shawl was all the wrap she had, in fact all she 
needed ; and when drawn closely about her, served 
to conceal the worst of her raggedness. She would 
not remove these coverings, even at Mrs. Olway’s 
urgent invitation. 

‘‘ The little dear was so good to me,'’ she faltered, 
and she made me come here." 

Have you then no home ? " asked Mrs. Olway, 
gently. 

No ; but that is not the worst. I was so 
wretched before she came," she said, pointing to 
Dora, and then she burst into tears. 

In a moment Mrs. Olway was at her side, laying 
her hand on the poor woman’s head. 

Do take off your things and stay with us, a 
little while at least. Perhaps we can help you ; 
and you may be sure that it will not be simple 
charity, for we feel greatly indebted to you. You 
must let us help you," Mrs. Olway asserted, trying 
to unfasten the veil. 

‘‘ No, no " ; sobbed the woman. Not yet ; you 
must wait." 

Mrs. Olway thought that she was too proud, and 
had evidently seen better days. Can she be 
demented ? ’’ she asked herself. But aloud, she 
said : “ My poor woman, your sorrow is great, but 
God gives rejoicing for sorrow. Can you not look 
unto him ? ’’ 

There was no answer ; only the sobbing ceased 
as Dora came and stroked the bowed head. 

I can make her stop," said the child, with confi- 
dence. Then she whispered close to the ear of the 
woman : ‘‘ Have a sweet cake ? ’’ 


THERE WERE NINETY AND NINE. 1 93 

Perhaps she is hungry/' thought Mrs. Olway. 
Acting upon this probability, she went out across 
the hall and told Mollie to prepare a warm lunch as 
quickly as possible and bring it to her sitting room. 

While she was in the hall the others came. They 
were asking eagerly, ‘‘Where is the child or 
“ Where is Dody ? " 

Dora all excitement, rushed out into the hall, and 
between the frantic hugs of papa and Eunice and 
Vina, and even Uncle Richard, she ejaculated : 

“ Oh, papa ! I have brought some one to live with 
us. I found her crying on the steps, and I gave 
her a cake, and — she is in there,” she added, point- 
ing and nodding toward her grandmother’s room. 

The woman’s head was still bowed as they 
entered, but Garton went to her, saying : 

“ We owe a great debt of gratitude to you, and 
we hope you will let us reward you in some way.” 

Mrs. Olway had whispered a few words to him in 
the hall 

Without looking up the woman answered : 

“ It was not my doing. You owe me nothing.” 

“ I can do no better than to leave you here with 
mother now. Mother and Eunice are our guardian 
angels, and they will care for you to-night.” So 
saying, he and Mr. Winthrop left the room, taking 
Dora with them. 

Lena had not yet returned. 

“Won’t you please let us make you comfort- 
able ? ” It was Miss Olway’s voice that asked the 
question, as she bent over the bowed figure. 

Even yet the woman would not remove her 
wraps, but sat in the same dejected attitude. 

N 


194 


EUNICE. 


You are weary, my poor woman; will you not 
rest awhile, and partake of some food ? '' 

Molly had just entered, bringing a tray. 

After she had responded to their hospitality, the 
woman did not appear disposed to leave immediately. 
She seemed to be waiting for some special purpose. 
‘‘ Not yet ” had been her answer to Mrs. Olway, and 
later to Eunice. 

Finally Eunice turned a look of eager inquiry at 
her mother, and something trembled on her lips. 
At last she said : 

Will you please give us your name, so that we 
may remember who was the guardian of our Dora 
when we feared she was lost ? ” 

Throwing back her veil, and casting off her 
shawl, the woman arose and suddenly exclaimed : 

‘‘ Don’t you know me ? I am Celia ! ” And then 
she sank back in her chair again as a sudden 
silence fell upon the room. 

What a moment ! The thoughts and deeds of 
the past seemed crowded into a single breath. 

It was not very long, although years seemed to 
dart across her mind, and Eunice was by Celia’s 
side and weeping over her, and praising God. 

Vina had been standing near, helpless and dazed. 
Then with sudden impulse, she was embracing Celia 
and crying : 

Celia, sister, I am Vina — little Vina ! and 
mamma is dead. But she always loved you, and 
left a letter for you.” 

It would be hard to tell who wept the most : 
but there is no doubt whose heart was the most 
joyful. 


THERE) WERE ninety AND NINE. I95 

** Found at last ! Come home at last ! Oh, 
Celia, how we have prayed and hoped ; and now He 
has brought you home at last,” Miss Olway was 
saying, between her tears. 

But Celia could say nothing, until at last she 
exclaimed, sobbing meanwhile : 

‘‘ Oh, Miss Eunice ! I have gone to the very 
depths ! I am not worthy to have you touch 
me!” 

But Eunice clung to her all the more. 

I am not worthy to stay here,” she went on, 
heedless of the caresses. was just going to 

send myself where I ought to go,” she added, with 
a shiver, ^‘when the little dear touched me. I 
should have been lying there stark and stiff to- 
morrow but for her. See ! here is my weapon ! ” 
She held up a bottle of poison. 

Miss Olway took it, with a horrified look. 

Oh, don’t fear I ” exclaimed Celia. ‘‘ I would 
not take it now, but I have been tempted to many 
a time.” 

Eunice was taking off Celia’s hat. 

No ; wait 1 ” exclaimed the prodigal, rising ; 
‘‘wait till I tell you all, and then see if you will 
recognize your old friend 1 ” There was a sem- 
blance of a sneer in her voice. She paused a 
moment, then went on in her old dramatic style : 

“ I left home, but it was a prison to me then. I 
cared nothing for any one that I left — no. Vina, 

neither you nor ” her voice broke here, but she 

controlled herself and continued : “ I hated you all ; 
I longed for something else ; I had gambled while 
in the city. You start! But it is so ; I did it 


196 


EUNICK. 


secretly. Yes, I did worse; but gambling was my 
ruling passion,” she went on, hurriedly. When I 
left home I went to New York. There I lived part 
of the time, and part of the time in Brooklyn. I 
went to the depths, as I knew I should if I began. 
Finally, I married. My husband was shot one 
night by a professed lover. I was horrified ; but 
feigned approval until I could expose the murderer.” 
Here, seeing the look of pain on the faces of her 
hearers, she added, her voice grown husky : I was 
not to blame ! No ; I am not a murderess ! I had 
never encouraged the other man. Finally I gave 
him up to the police and left the city. Then he 
escaped — and now my terror is lest I shall meet 
him. I have endured pain, and poverty, and cruelty. 
I am almost a beggar ! ” she added, holding out her 
tattered sleeves. I had no friends.. I was haunted 
by nightmare. I found my way to this city, but 
dared not think of making myself known. I dared 
not act. I had resolved to die — and end it all ! ” 
She sank back into a chair, exhausted, but gasped : 
‘‘ I have told you all — now send me away ! ” 

All were standing about her; and Eunice draw- 
ing nearer spoke, as she leaned yearningly over the 
stricken form. 

‘‘Who said, ‘He that is without sin ... let 
him first cast a stone.’ Our Christ ! Our Jesus 
stands waiting to welcome you home ; and shall 
we cast you out ? He said, ‘ Though your sins be 
as scarlet they shall be as white as snow.’ Oh, 
Celia ! plunge and be washed in the blood of the 
Lamb ! ” 

Celia looked up wonderingly : “ Could I be 


THERE WERE NINETY AND NINE. 1 97 

changed, as red is changed to white ? Is it true, 
Miss Eunice ? ” 

True as God is God ! Eunice answered, sol- 
emnly. 

‘‘ Then pray for me, Eunice, that your God will 
make me white as you say.'' 

It was time to kneel down then. No one could 
have stood through that prayer ! Eunice prayed, 
as she never had prayed before, and they could 
almost see the blessed, patient Christ still stand, 
knocking, knocking, knocking at the stubborn door. 
It was touching to see him waiting there until they 
let him in — for the doors all opened at the last. 
That one whose hinges had almost rusted off — that 
one, at last flew open, and the Great Light came in ! 
The glorious presence entered and the unsightly spot 
was transformed into a palace. There was no more 
need of the sun — for the Lamb, who is the ‘‘ Light 
thereof," was there. And there was not anything 
allowed within it that defileth or that maketh a lie. 
The tears were wiped away from their eyes. All 
things had become new ; and the glory and the 
sweetness rested upon all. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


NUPTIALS. 

Speak it not lightly! — ’tis a holy thing, 

A bond enduring through long distant years, 

When joy o’er thine abode is hovering. 

Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears. 

— Anon, 

I T was evening. Richard Winthrop sat in his 
office study writing. The effort seemed to cost 
him a good deal of trouble. It was strange, for 
ordinarily words flowed with marvelous facility 
under his hand, forming themselves into sentences 
and paragraphs like fine mosaic work. 

To-night, however, he stopped often, laying down 
his pen and reviewing what he had written, lapsing 
into meditation only to recall himself again to his 
task with an expression of firmness about his deli- 
cately chiseled lips. But this carefulness need not 
be deplored, for he was engaged in a very difficult 
matter — the writing of a letter which was to express 
the purest gratitude with the sincerest congratula- 
tions and the highest esteem, without betraying a 
single minor note of personal disappointment or as 
yet unrestrained adoration. 

Richard Winthrop did not wish to intrude upon 
sacred ground, but begged leave to empty his ala- 
baster box just outside the gate. If he could never 
dream of having Eunice as his wife, he longed for 
198 


NUPTIALS. 


199 


the supreme privilege of giving her his best friend- 
ship. Of course he did not even intimate these 
things in words ; but being a skilled master of ex- 
pression, he conveyed the idea of his unconditioned 
wish in such a way that Eunice felt strangely hon- 
ored. 

He felt that their soul-searching conversation of 
a few weeks previous had made this letter a neces- 
sity ; but it was the only relief which he allowed 
himself. It was comparatively easy after this to 
send a cordial greeting to his friend, Ernest Rad- 
cliffe, congratulating him upon his rare prospects. 

‘‘ I could never have been worthy,'' he murmured, 
vainly, endeavoring to restrain his wandering 
thoughts, after the letters were sealed, and he had 
placed an open book before him on his desk. How 
dull I am ! " he continued, trying to smile at him- 
self. ‘‘ I have proved that statement over and over 
again, and it was decided without appeal ; and yet 
the question keeps coming up like the ghost of a 
murdered friend, never to be banished. If it will 
not be banished, it shall be conquered. I will be 
totally impervious to it. It shall not drive me 
away. No ; I am no coward, whatever else I am." 
After a moment, he added : ‘Hf I should go to 
Europe." “ But, of course, I would not think of 
going away. Shall the child run away from its 
mother, because she denies him something No; 
he may whimper and grieve as much as he likes, 
but he will not long hide away from the loving, 
maternal arms. Her commonest, friendly word will 
be to me what wifely advice is to other men. There 
is no ban upon that — for that is no relationship of 


200 


EUNICE. 


this world — and even God permits spirit to attract 
spirit toward himself.” 

There was a far-away look in his eyes as he dwelt 
on this thought, and his clear-cut features bore the 
imprint of determination. The type of Richard 
Winthrop’s face was indeed noble, with something 
of the Grecian cast intermingled. 

His intellectual growth had been greatly in- 
fluenced by the Greek art and literature. Fredonia, 
his sister, called him an ‘‘American Greek,” as 
he returned from abroad after several years, spent 
chiefly in Greece. 

“ I love their language, and literature, and art,” 
he answered ; “ but I am no Grecian patriot. 
America-Columbia is the modern Greece. For her 
let me live and die ! ” 

As this eloquent outburst was relieved by an easy 
smile, Fredonia had no fears of his immediate mar- 
tyrdom — either social or political. 

Richard Winthrop’s professional life hitherto had 
not prevented him from becoming thoroughly con- 
versant with Greek and English literature. Indeed 
he had devoted himself to the securing of a broad 
and liberal education. 

“ I will lay the foundation broad and deep,” he 
once confessed to his sister ; “ that will be more to 
me than an early start in practice.” Then, with a 
smile, he added, “ A statesman must have a long 
preparation.” 

“ Richard might be a statesman ; but he never 
will ; his nature is too indolent.” So Fredonia 
had said, just before her brother’s trip to the old 
world. 


NUPTIALS. 


201 


But Richard really surprised her, when he actu- 
ally took up his profession. 

Three weeks from the time the letter was written 
there was a wedding ; and Richard Winthrop’s gift 
arrived full early. It was the gem of the collection, 
and consisted of two pieces — a rare oil painting and 
a quaint Grecian vase. The guests were not many ; 
only the nearest friends of the bride and groom. 
There was to be an informal reception at Milston, 
from which place the newly wedded pair were to go 
to Mr. Radcliffe’s home in New England for a few 
weeks and then to New York, where they were 
to live. 

Eunice wore a gown of pure white, and carried 
snowy lilies. She had no veil, but a wreath of white 
rose-buds was twined in her hair. The ceremony 
was performed in the confidence room,” much to 
Lena’s dissatisfaction ; but afterward the bridal 
company moved to Carton’s dining hall for refresh- 
ments. It was a quiet, hallowed, joyous occasion, 
on a sunny morning in early August. 

To say that no murmur of discord broke upon 
the atmosphere of that fine August morning, is not 
tor assert that tranquility was universal. It does 
not even imply that all of the guests had come 
away from disturbing thoughts. 

Richard Winthrop indeed had fought a battle ; 
but had come off victorious at early dawn. The 
warfare waged all night long in the midst of the 
cloud-darkened camp, but just as the first sun-rays 
pierced the shrouded east, ushering in the glorious 
day, so the rays of hope scattered the shadows from 
his and heralded a new epoch in his life. 


202 


EUNICE. 


Did you notice how white Richard looked dur- 
ing the ceremony ? ” asked Lena, as she and Garton 
were reviewing the day when all was over. ‘‘ But I 
never saw such a gleam as there was in his eyes. 
It seemed to rejoice in the match, as if he were 
looking down in benediction from heaven, or at 
least somewhere above this world. I cannot under- 
stand Richard at all,'’ she added, in a slightly in- 
jured tone. <‘Hehas taken it so differently from 
what I expected, and yet I am sure he was terribly 
disappointed.” 

Richard has certainly changed,” Garton re- 
marked, thoughtfully. ‘‘Perhaps this will be the 
making of him.” 

“ The making of him ! ” exclaimed Lena in wonder 
and reproof ; “ what do you mean, Garton ? We 
say that of people who are not already just as nice 
as they can be.” 

There was a reproachful coloring on the last few 
words. 

“ Oh, Lena ! ” returned Garton, with pretended 
petulance ; “ Richard is not absolute perfection, I 
suppose, and disappointment is sometimes good 
for a man. It makes him realize that life is 
earnest.” 

“ Isn’t it a pity that you were not disappointed in 
the same way ! ” 

Here was the first show of temper in Lena that 
Garton had witnessed since their marriage. But it 
immediately relapsed into tears of mingled penitence 
and injury when Garton drew her into his arms in 
token of tender reproof and reconciliation. 

Lena’s exclamation set Garton’s thoughts astir ; 


NUPTIALS. 


203 


and the question as to whether or not it would have 
been better had he himself suffered disappointment 
in love was stifled with a negative, a negative born 
of overpowering affection, but a negative that almost 
seemed selfish in view of what his own weakness 
and suffering might have been. It all ended in his 
greater pity and reverence for Richard Winthrop. 

But Garton did not have much occasion to show 
his sympathy, as Richard Winthrop’s ambition in 
professional lines suddenly drew him out of society 
— a fact which was much deplored by his friends. 

‘‘He, so cultured and bright,” one young woman 
remarked ; ‘‘ and whatever he believes, his religious 
views are never disagreeably prominent.” 

She did not know, however, that Mr. Winthrop’s 
‘'religious views” would have been the theme up- 
permost in his mind, had he accepted the pressing 
invitations which awaited him every evening. Per- 
haps it was his correct taste which led him to see 
that he was not at that time a fit subject for social 
life. 

He now spent many of his leisure hours in the 
study of religious literature ; but he was not looking 
for "views” — he was searching for the truth. In- 
stead of the Greek dramatists, he read his Greek 
Testament, and was amazed to find how thrilled he 
was by its graphic simplicity and clear depths. To 
be sure he had studied it before as a piece of litera- 
ture. He had even tried to accept its teaching in 
entirety. 

" I have not left one stone unturned,” he had 
once said in explanation of what he termed his 
"necessitated belief.” 


204 


EUNICK. 


But he was now viewing it in a different light. 
He was looking for that personality which some one 
had told him embodied the truth, which he, seeing 
only abstractions, could not feel. 

“Yes; I feel a personality; but is it any more 
than her personality which helps me to understand 
the Gospels } Is the personality of this Christ any 
more than a figment in which I read her character } 
he asked himself, constantly, while doubt lurked at 
his elbow. 

“O God, if thou art a personal God, open my 
eyes that I may see thee as such ! ” was his prayer, 
as he read on and on, fascinated as never before, by 
this Christ — the man of Nazareth. 

“ Can it be } The wonderful possibility began 
to dawn upon his mind, as he spent night after 
night poring over the beautiful words. 

At last there came a night when he said : 

“A it any more than her personality that I feel ? ” 
Under the constraint of this question he again took 
up John, and the slowly dawning light crept into 
his mind, and doubt forever took its flight. So 
quietly did the Sun of Righteousness shine forth 
that he hardly knew when the change came ; but 
this one thing he knew, that whereas it had been 
twilight, it was now noon ; what had hitherto been 
obscure, he now could understand. 

The marriage of Ernest Radcliffe and Eunice 
Olway then was destined to affect other lives as 
well as their own. The fact that Mr. Radcliffe was 
to leave Milston Center, with its prosperous out- 
post, Milston, was sadly deplored by all concerned. 
But, of course, it was not possible that the “ Mil- 


NUPTIALS, 


205 


ston people ” should be so favored as to retain two 
such people as Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe ; and they 
had sufficient confidence in their pastor to believe 
that he was following a plain call of God. Yet the 
reception which they tendered the young couple in 
the recently dedicated church, was an occasion of 
sadness to many who were present. 

All their old friends were there, and many more. 
The Milston Center people had heartily responded 
to the invitation to join in honoring their common 
pastor at the Milston new church. Their common 
loss promoted unity; and petty jealousy was de- 
stroyed, as it was sure to be, by the birth of a like 
enterprising spirit at Milston Center. 

‘‘ What did I tell you ? ” remarked one young 
girl to another, as they whispered arm in arm in the 
crowded aisle. I knew even he would not have 
come over here so much if she had not been here.’’ 

/‘Well, we could not help it,” sighed the other. 
“Isn’t she lovely, anyway.^” Maud ejaculated. 

“ Yes ; everybody thinks it is just right. Charlie 
was just wild when he heard of it ; and he has not 
given me a minute’s peace since with his, ‘ I told 
you so ! I told you so ! ’ ” Nellie answered, in an in- 
jured tone. 

“ Now, see here, Nell, it is of no use ! ” said Maud ; 
“you might as well admire the moon, if you can’t 
have it.” 

They were on their way to offer congratulations. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Doty was performing her duty 
in that particular. She even went so far as to drag 
the reluctant Peter along with her. As she held 
out her plump hand and laughed, she said : 


206 


KUNICE. 


‘‘You are the happiest couple I have seen in a 
long time. As I said to Pete, ‘ They both are the 
best we have known ; and the best is good enough 
for the best ! ’ 

Others were waiting for a handshake ; and Peter, 
the silent, opened his lips : 

“ There is no need to tell them that, Mrs. Doty. 
You better tell them something they won’t believe. 
You jest wait a sp-e-11 ! ” he drawled, winking and 
grinning back at Mr. Radcliffe in his droll way, as 
he passed away to make room for others. 

The honest wishes of these country people, so 
crudely and often ludicrously expressed, were very 
dear to the two. hearts recently made one; and 
when they saw the tears kept back so bravely in 
loving eyes, they had much difficulty in controlling 
themselves. The noble band of young people who 
had been in Eunice’s Bible-school, expressed their 
mingled love and regret at the parting in the offer- 
ing of a beautiful gift. 

This was a momentous affair for Milston, and 
was long remembered both by old and young. 
Among the most interested were John and Harriet 
Blake, with their son James, who came home for 
the occasion. 

James was quite a fine-looking young man now. 
His awkwardness was less marked, and his honest 
black eyes were as bright as ever. 

“ He is a favorite of the minister,” a woman said, 
as she watched the greeting. “ Well, he is a fine 
lad, and from what I hear, the minister has done a 
good deal for him — about his schooling, you know. 
Ah ! he is speaking to that Vinie Parkes. Harriet 


NUPTIAI^. 


207 


Blake won't like that. I have heard her speak 
slightingly of the girl. But no telling — she is very 
bright, and perhaps she and James may make a 
match yet.” 

The meeting of James and Vina had been antic- 
ipated by both, and planned with deliberation by 
Vina. She had arranged just how she should act ; 
rather coldly at first, for James had been very indif- 
ferent, and she wished to show him that his treat- 
ment was nothing to her. But she was confident 
that James could not withstand her long, and she 
only meant to tease him awhile and make him see, 
if possible, that he need not be so sure of her pref- 
erence for himself. 

This monolgue had occurred as she was preparing 
for the ride to Milston after the wedding ; but when 
she looked into the glass for the last time, a tear 
crept into her eye as she said : ‘‘ I will not be friv- 
olous any more, James. Perhaps I may seem to be, 
just to bother you, but ” she did not finish. 

But her purpose changed, as the premises which 
led to it had altered. James was very cordial and 
tender, not even noticing her feigned coolness. 

I came just to see you,” he was saying. ‘‘ Vinie, 
I have been kept away so long, but nothing shall 
keep me any longer, although I must wait years be- 
fore ” 

Their prolonged greeting was becoming notice- 
able ; and Vina, seeing the amusing side of it, and 
moreover, feeling greatly relieved, drew her hand 
away, and remarked, coquettishly, finishing his sen- 
tence for him : 

‘‘ Before you can call upon an old friend ? ” But 


2o8 


EUNICE. 


when she saw the disappointment in his face, she 
added, soberly : Don’t fear, James, I am not frivol- 
ous any more. I — could not be — I have had too 
much trouble,” and her lips trembled visibly. 

He was touched to the quick. 

« Forgive me, Vinie ; your trouble has all been 
mine ; and I have longed to comfort you. But I 
have trusted God to do it, and he has given me 
the assurance that he would. You do forgive 
me ” he pleaded; anxiously. 

As Vina looked up and whispered ^‘yes,” she 
did not know whether she was more happy or 
sad. 

But now Mr. and Mrs. Blake came up and spoke 
kindly to her, and then all passed on. 

Mr. Radcliffe had contrived to keep the father 
and mother talking as long as possible that James 
might have an opportunity to speak with Vina ; and 
it was not difficult, for Mrs. Blake had a good deal 
to say, and moreover, had not at first caught sight 
of Vina. 

Well, I have hoped for this, but did not 
dare expect it,” she said, adding: ‘‘I had hoped 
against our losing you, and now you are going — 
well ! It is ever so, and of course it is for the best, 
somehow. Oh, how glad I shall be when we get 
to that place where there are no partings ! ” 

Yes ; Mrs. Blake, partings are grievous, but we 
trust we are to meet here again, you know ; but if 
not, surely there. Now you must come down and 
see us when we get established — you really must,” 
Mr. Radcliffe returned. 

Certainly,” added Mrs. Radcliffe, emphasizing 


NUPTIAI^. 209 

the invitation with warmth; ‘‘James has promised 
to come and bring you.” 

Mrs. Blake smiled, and John said it was very 
doubtful. 

And thus their friends came to greet them, and 
then passed along to make room for others — a 
symbol of our meetings in this life’s journey. But 
all wished them success and happiness, and prophe- 
sied the fulfillment of their wishes. 

Whether or not these bright hopes were to be 
realized lay in the keeping of the future. 


o 


CHAPTER XV. 


A QUEER SOCIETY MAN. 

I slept and dreamed that life was Beauty ; 
I woke and found that life was Duty. 

Was my dream then a shadowy lie ? 

Toil on, poor heart, unceasingly ; 

And thou shall find thy dream to be 
A truth and noontide light to thee. 


-Ellen Sturgis Hooper, 



EARS passed. Six gay seasons had circled by, 


1 and now the seventh brilliant winter campaign 
was about to open in Washington. 

Mr. Richard Winthrop was in his private room 
in one of those fine, spacious, old-fashioned houses 
which belong only to a few of the oldest families of 
Washington. It was an elegant mansion, standing 
in stately pride, and somewhat hidden from the 
broad avenue by the protecting branches of some 
tall, old trees. Richard Winthrop sat back in his 
chair, and appeared to be musing over the contents 
of a letter which lay open on his knee. One hand 
still pressed its leaves softly as if in veneration. 

As he sat there, resting one elbow on the chair- 
arm and supporting his temple with his palm, he 
would have made an interesting study for an artist. 
There was nothing of the old cultured indolence in 
his attitude of meditation, but it would have taken 
a careful observer to note any change in his dress 


210 


A QUEKR society MAN. 21 1 

or personal appearance which seven years had 
wrought. There was the same scrupulous neatness, 
the same plain refinement, the same indefinable 
polish. True, the richness of his auburn hair was 
made even more lustrous by an intermingling of 
silver gleams ; but his face — there was the change ! 
Wherein the difference consisted was hard to tell. 
A subtle something had stolen into the chiselled 
features, illuminating them as with some inward 
transparency, and glowing like quickened embers 
in his tranquil blue eyes. A more thoughtful 
gravity also was upon his lips, as though sweet 
melancholy were his companion during his solitary 
hours. 

^^It is truly marvelous,’’ he murmured. '‘She 
shines with an ever-increasing luster — they there : 
I here — but the same life in His sight ! ” 

His eyes closed ; and he became perfectly still 
again, until a tap at his door recalled him to the 
present, and a maid entered and asked if he would 
be pleased to come to the drawing room. 

In the broad hall, as he started to obey the sum- 
mons, he encountered his sister, Mrs. Morange. 

" Oh, Richard ! ” she said, as he took her hand in 
one of his and overclasped it with the other. " Will 
you come to the drawing room ? There are only a 
few to-night, a select few ; among them, one Made- 
moiselle Lasee. She is very anxious to meet my 
brother.” 

Fredonia spoke with some hesitation, not know- 
ing how her brother would decide. Through his 
letters she had learned of his almost entire with- 
drawal from society and of his having joined an 


212 


EUNICE. 


evangelical church. Of his steady rise to public 
notice, and his espousal of the most ideal principles 
of his party, she had heard in other ways. If he 
had not taken this stand, she would have expected 
to see him senator. 

My American-Greek patriot, Richard, posing as 
reformer! But, after all, it is just what I might 
have anticipated. 

Yet Richard Winthrop had been very busy those 
days. He put his best energy into the struggle, 
and though the contest was close, he came off vic- 
torious after all. So he had come to spend the 
winter with his sister in Washington ; but he had 
only just recently arrived. 

Before asking her question, Fredonia thought it 
well over. ‘‘He is the same dear Richard; and yet 
he is different too, someway. He is a perpetual 
mystery to me. I am never quite sure any more 
what he will comply with, or what he will just 
quietly refuse. But I do hope he will not hide him- 
self from society.*’ 

There was a peculiar tenderness between these 
two, which had existed from early childhood. 
Their natures were similar only in outline, so to 
speak; but Fredonia almost worshiped her brother, 
and made of him an idol which she justified herself 
in retaining on the ground that he was her only 
brother, and that she had no children. 

Richard smiled, and there was a gleam of the old 
playfulness in his eyes, which reassured her. 

“May I come as reformer?” he asked. “You 
know I can never deteriorate into being simply 
agreeable in society. I may prove a very unwel- 


A QUEER SOCIETY MAN. 


213 


come guest — to the others. I cannot promise to 
be a favorite among such a select company. How- 
ever, Fredonia,” and his eyes beamed with brotherly 
affection, I will go in gladly, if you will not ex- 
pect me to talk animated nonsense.” 

Richard ! who ever heard you talk nonsense ? 
Well, yes,” she admitted, after a pause; ‘^perhaps 
you used to do so occasionally — the animated sort, 
but even that always sounded like sense. Your 
Greek accent transformed it, I suppose. Besides, 
a little nonsense now and then is relished by the 
best of men.” 

‘‘No, Fredonia; real fashionable nonsense was 
never relished by the best of men.” 

And she understood what he meant. The thought 
remained with her for a long time after they entered 
the drawing room ; and indeed occurred to her 
again in her room at night in the shape of a 
question. 

“ Is it true } Does Richard believe that, and is 
that why he is so changed } Whoever would have 
dreamed that a change in his belief would make 
Richard so radical. Yet, is he radical ? He is not 
what I have usually understood by the term. It is 
a mystery. But I am so glad he is here, though 
the whole house has changed since he came.” 

Fredonia’s husband, Robert Morange, was a 
wealthy, middle-aged judge, who, however staid he 
might be in the court-room, was fond of society, 
and especially of his club-life. He had married 
Fredonia for her beauty, for she was a great belle 
when she met Mr. Morange, the distinguished judge. 
Her features bore a likeness to Richard’s, only that 


214 


EUNICE. 


they were more delicate ; and indeed she was said 
to be beautiful as a dream when she first came 
out.” Now, however, she was more matronly, but 
presided gracefully over his home, which was all her 
husband desired from his wife. 

Their married life had been tranquil, but not 
ideally happy. If Mrs. Morange was not fully sat- 
isfied, she at least thought that she was. Society, 
music, and art divided her attention. As she had 
no children to claim her affection, its abundant 
overflow was bestowed upon her brother ; and, 
therefore, she had no desire that Richard should 
marry. To have him with her in Washington had 
long been her dream. But now that her dream was 
realized, she had a little regret. 

‘‘ Perhaps it is not right ; but really there is no 
one good enough for him. Few of the beautiful 
women are cultured enough, and many of the cul- 
tured ones are so plain. Of course I do not know 
what he may choose to do ; yet he clings to me still 
with the same old boyish fondness, and more since 
dear mother s death.” A glad smile wreathed her 
face with beauty ; but she saddened as she said to 
herself, How he worshiped mother ! I should 
think it was mother’s death that changed him, if I 
had not noticed it before, when they were here to- 
gether that last time.” 

Fredonia had not been so thoughtful after a so- 
cial evening since that sad time. 

“ Somehow, Richard makes me think of such 
things. It all seemed different to-night. How 
noble he appeared. I am so proud of him. They 
were all charmed, I could see in a moment. Richard 


A QUKKR S0CII:TY MAN. 


215 


is a born society man of the highest type, and I 
shall simply not let him hide his light under a 
bushel.” This phrase struck her as a very bright 
thought. ‘‘When I put it in that light it will be 
irresistible,” she said. 

Richard evidently did not intend to “hide his 
light,” as he made no objection to being present on 
nearly every social occasion in the house, and some- 
times even went out with his sister. Of course the 
diplomatic receptions could not be neglected, and 
they occupied a good deal of his time. The Em- 
pire State’s senator naturally had much on his 
mind, especially as questions involving social and 
moral reforms were before the people. The re- 
sponsibility weighed heavily; but he liked its 
weight. He felt with patriotic pride the glory of 
being a pivot, however small, on which a nation’s 
welfare might turn ; for he had a growing interest 
in the American Republic, and had served his 
country as an officer from his own State in her time 
of need. 

Now it appeared that Richard Winthrop was not 
altogether without interest in Washington society. 
Fredonia soon began to almost wish that he would 
take less interest. Could it be that he had found 
some fair woman who possessed more than ordinary 
attraction for him ? ” 

One evening, ignoring a large reception, a select 
coterie of friends met at Morange Hall. Mademoi- 
selle Las^e, the bright, young Frenchwoman, was 
present. In the course of the evening she and Mr. 
Winthrop were thrown together, and conversed 
entirely in French ; the latter being an accom- 


2i6 


EUNICE. 


plished linguist. The topic of music, being of 
mutual interest, was soon introduced, and Made- 
moiselle Lasee said: 

I perceive that you are a true musical critic, 
and show an unusual familiarity with the composers 
and their works. That is rare for you Americans 
— I mean the sort of acquaintance you have — 
not simply that you* have heard them many times, 
but that you have heard and understood. But your 
sister has the same appreciation ; I suppose it runs 
in the family ? ” 

Mademoiselle Lasee was very lovely and was 
always gowned in the best of taste. She also pos- 
sessed a remarkably sweet voice, which had received 
the finest training. There was no necessity de- 
manding the use of this rare gift for monetary ends, 
and so she sang for her own pleasure or that of her 
friends. The timbre of her voice was of a pecu- 
liarly sweet character, and the tone-color was sus- 
ceptible of the finest gradations of shade. 

‘‘ My sister has all the musical ability in the 
present house of Winthrop,” was the reply ; ‘^and 
my appreciation comes largely from being with her. 
Later, however, I caught the spirit of music from 
some one else. There is music that has a soul and 
music that has not ; or at best, only a dead soul ; 
is it not so ? ” 

Truly, monsieur, you talk just as my old master 
used to talk. He used to say : ‘ Oh, mademoiselle ! 
let out the soul, let out the soul ! That is very well 
for a shade or an echo, but we want the living soul.’ 
My master was an Italian,” she added, in explana- 
tion ; but when he failed to make an Italian out 


A QUEER society MAN. 


217 


of me, he gave me up. He said my voice was fas- 
cinating, but it was too thoroughly French to suit 
him.” She made this confession with the charming 
naivete of her sex and race. 

Many people thought Mademoiselle Lasde herself 
was dangerously fascinating; and when Fredonia 
perceived upon whom the heiress was bestowing 
her sweetest smiles, she was really quite concerned. 
But she had more tact than to interfere openly, at 
least for the present. 

Richard Winthrop and Mademoiselle Las6e had 
met very often during the winter, and the latter 
made acquaintances very easily. So that by this 
time they talked quite familiarly. 

The way in which I learned to look for a spirit 
in music was by finding that a certain beautiful 
voice interpreted an equally beautiful character,” 
Mr. Winthrop continued. ‘‘ That cannot be a per- 
fectly sure index to follow, of course, generally 
speaking ; but I believe the voice is intended to ex- 
press the soul within ; and when it expresses a God- 
like soul, there is no power on earth like it. It 
surely brings heaven down to touch our hearts with 
its cleansing fire.” He spoke with unusual fervor, 
and a sad tenderness beamed in his eyes. 

‘‘ You must have been in love,” asseverated Made- 
moiselle Lasee, with her French directness. But 
as she met his gaze she stopped, with a certain awe. 
After a moment she added, rather meekly: ‘‘You 
never said there was a soul in my voice. Indeed, 
I see you do not praise as other men. To be 
frank, you have piqued me.” In thought she 
added : “ But I will make you feel my power yet. 


2i8 


EUNICE. 


My voice may not be like the other voice ” ; and she 
felt a slight twinge of jealousy; ‘‘but it shall in- 
fluence you. It shall be my one object in America 
to influence this man, this one strange man, this 
one most fascinating man.” She had aimed at a 
like conquest many times before .with unfailing suc- 
cess ; but then Mr. Winthrop was different from 
any one she had ever met. “ Well ! so much the 
more interesting,” she thought. With a smile, she 
asked aloud : “ Will you tell me honestly whether 
you feel any soul in my voice .^ ” 

He looked at her out of his calm, fathomless blue 
eyes, and answered slowly : 

“ I trust there is a soul behind those exquisite, 
flute-like tones. It may lie sleeping yet, but it is 
there — a rare beautiful jewel, which turns all things 
to gold when it is in the hands of the Great Phi- 
losopher.” 

She had not anticipated such words, and she felt 
that her slight hold over him was vanishing. Her 
charms seemed of little value to her just then. “ I 
cannot understand it,” she thought ; “he is getting 
me under his power — and such a strange power ! 
Of all fascinating men this is the rarest ; but he 
almost makes me quake at times. He seems to see 
into my very heart. Is it possible that he can read 
my thoughts ? ” She hesitated a moment. “ Some 
of these Americans are wonderful, and so different 
from us.” 

She determined to try another turn. “ There is 
at least a heart, monsieur. If it is sleeping, it is 
only waiting to be awakened. You remember the 
story of the beautiful prince ? ” 


A que;kr society man. 219 

Richard Winthrop was somewhat surprised at the 
question, but answered : 

I was thinking rather of a more beautiful story, 
where a soul awoke to a vision of itself in the pres- 
ence of its Maker.'' 

This conversation occurred after Mademoiselle 
Lasee had finished a song. Mr. Winthrop had 
turned the leaves of the music for her, as he had 
often done before ; and between the songs they usu- 
ally talked while she was resting. Mademoiselle 
Lasee had shown much cordiality to him ever since 
they had met ; and while he did not court her favor, 
yet he had never openly evaded her. 

Just at this point Mrs. Morange came up with 
another lady and gentleman, and all begged for 
another song. Richard Winthrop very easily made 
his escape, leaving his honors to the other man, 
and approaching his sister with his usual courtesy, 
talked with her and Mrs. Bowne until the next mu- 
sical number began. Mrs. Bowne was a rich 
middle - aged widow, whose husband had been 
adjutant-general in the southern army; and Mr. 
Winthrop always enjoyed conversing with her — the 
more perhaps because it excited no jealousy. Even 
Fredonia was willing to trust him with her. 

Now as she watched his apparent indifference at 
leaving the Frenchwoman, and his evident interest 
in the widow, Mrs. Morange, thought : 

Why need I trouble myself ? Richard could 
never be deceived. Yet, he never seems to be con- 
scious of himself at all, and he might get involved 
before he realized it with any one like her." She 
almost determined to ignore the French heiress 


220 


EUNICE. 


entirely, but concluded that it would be too notice- 
able. ‘‘ No ; I shall simply watch her for Richard’s 
sake.” She would not admit to herself that she 
would have been just as solicitous had the woman 
in question been entirely to her taste. 

Mr. Morange had also noticed Mademoiselle 
Lasee’s marked preference, but with no anxiety for 
Richard. He read the latter with a man’s insight, 
and smiled at the possible misunderstanding be- 
tween these two. Robert Morange had not lived 
in the world for nothing. He prided himself on 
being both in and of the world. A Southerner on 
his mother’s side, but a Northerner by his father’s 
blood, he partook of the nature of both. Indolent 
in appearance he was active in brain, chivalrous to- 
ward women, but without real domestic tenderness. 
His ideal woman was a sort of fragile flower, to be 
sheltered and admired — not loved as a being like 
himself ; and any woman that fell below this ideal 
was lightly esteemed by him. 

He, therefore, envied his brother-in-law the op- 
portunity for amusement which was offered in the 
person of Mademoiselle Lasee. 

But Winthrop will never take advantage of it, 
with his queer puritan notions,” Mr. Morange 
thought, one evening. ‘^Yet his absurd sincerity 
in these same high notions is the very richest kind 
of amusement, when contrasted with the French- 
woman’s hypocrisy. I like to sit outside and ob- 
serve the foibles and eccentricities of men. It is 
all the relaxation a man needs. But the earnest- 
ness which it assumes in some minds, women’s es- 
pecially, is most ridiculous — as if it were, not over 


A QUEER SOCIETY MAN. 22 R 

in a day, and gone forever. After all, life does not 
amount to ^much, except — oh, of course, right is 
right, and all that, but it is all a dream, a shadow — 
at least we are very uncertain of anything beyond, 
whatever Winthrop may say. To live honestly and 
deal justly is the thing to do here; and I have 
always done it, chiefly because I promised father 
that I would.” 

But now again the words came back which 
Richard Winthrop had uttered in answer to a chal- 
lenge from him given in a joking way.- The chal- 
lenge called for the definition of an atheist ; and 
Richard Winthrop’s response caused at least a few 
of his hearers to think in lines that would not be 
dismissed. 

If there is a personal God, there is a personal 
immortality. No denier of immortality acknowl- 
edges a personal God ; and he who denies a personal 
God is an atheist ; and an atheist is a blind depend- 
ent — of all men most miserable ; blind because he 
wills it, and is willing to be blind. Such a man 
deserves to be pitied.” 

It was seldom that the subject of religious beliefs 
was discussed even ever so lightly. When serious 
questions were indulged in, the intricacies of poli- 
tics whetted the minds of these men and women. 
But the general range of conversation was usually 
too broad to be thus limited, for there were many 
fluent talkers, especially among the women. 

Although he moved in the busy life of Washing- 
ton, both in its outer and inner circles, Richard 
Winthrop did not forget his old friends of the past. 
He frequently paid a visit to Garton and Lena 01- 


222 


EUNICE. 


way, and had come to be Dora's veritable knight- 
errant. Her girlish devotion was such as a maiden 
delights to pour at the feet of some hero, about 
whom her fancy has woven a beautiful romance. 
Dora wrote charming little letters to Uncle 
Richard,” who was attending to the country’s wel- 
fare at Washington. She almost looked upon him 
as the second father of his country, and was eager 
to strew flowers in his pathway whenever he should 
return. 

Hollis sometimes added a postscript to Dora’s 
letters in his bold chirography ; once to the effect 
that he himself would come to Washington some 
day, and perform whatever Uncle Richard failed to 
accomplish. He knew one thing which he should 
do when he got there, and that was to put ‘‘ lady 
teachers ” in every grade of the schools, because 
they were ‘^so much nicer.” One cannot but ob- 
serve that his ideas on the woman question had 
undergone a radical change. The secret, however, 
lay in the fact that he had lately passed from Vina’s 
considerate supervision to a strange man’s impartial 
tutelage in the public schools, and the contrast had 
put an edge upon his feelings. 

Mrs. Garton Olway was beginning to think that 
she had been mistaken about Richard Winthrop’s 
love for Eunice ; but Garton knew through Ernest 
Radcliffe of Mr. Winthrop’s wonderful generosity 
toward him in his work, and traced it to a possible 
source. 

Without mentioning the fact to Mrs. Olway, he 
said to himself : Whatever the cause is, it has 
effected great liberality in all directions, for al- 


A QUEER SOCIETY MAN. 


223 


though he tries to conceal it, I know of Richard’s 
gifts to various benevolences ; and since he joined 
the church no one has done more for the mission 
cause, both at home and abroad. He puts me to 
open shame.” Garton did not try to remember his 
own increased subscriptions. ‘‘ That sister of mine,” 
he went on, ‘‘has wrought wonders in her way. I 
believe she will make missionaries of us all yet, 
Lena herself included ; that is, in spirit and offer- 
ings, for we all cannot go abroad.” 

This was just after he had received a letter from 
Ernest Radcliffe with an enclosed sheet from 
Eunice. 

“ How she takes everything ! ” he meditated. 
“Not a shade of sadness in her words. Now if we 
had lost Dora, Lena would have despaired, I believe, 

and I . But Eunice only says that God loved 

little Olway better than they, and so he took him 
to dwell in his greater love. Yet Ernest did say 
that for a time Eunice almost had no power to live. 
It was a fearful blow for them both ! ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


CONTRASTS. 


The best 

Impart the gift of seeing to the rest. 

— Sordello, 

LARGE assembly had gathered in a spacious 



hall in New York City, and was eagerly wait- 
ing the next word of the speaker. He had evi- 
dently finished speaking, however, and was turning 
toward the rear of the platform, where the chorus 
of singers was seated. At this sign a woman 
came forward with a sheet of music in her hand. 
Then all eyes were riveted upon her, for many had 
listened to her before, and if their motives for coming 
that night had been examined, the fact would have 
been discovered in most cases that the “ wonderful 
singer '' had attracted them. 

Need it be said that it was Eunice Olway Rad- 
cliffe herself, who stood there in her plain gray gown, 
and modest hat of the same soft hue. She was more 
mature than before her marriage, and her face had 
a riper loveliness; but she was the same Eunice 
who had sung to the children in the hospital, and 
thrilled her listeners at that memorable missionary 
tea eight years before. 

Instead of diminishing, her voice had gained in 
power and richness, and the full, pure tones seemed 


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Eunice 




CONTRASTS. 


225 


only to glorify the clear-cut words. It was a simple 
sacred song that pictured the love and agony of the 
Man of God, whose great, broken heart yearned over 
the wayward souls of men with longings that could 
not be uttered. As the last note floated out, every 
eye seemed to see him standing there ; the Man who 
was crowned with thorns, now transformed into the 
Saviour, who was altogether lovely, and the chief- 
est among ten thousand.” 

To describe the effect of ordinary music is not 
easy ; but to portray the breathless hush, the final 
sigh, the tear-dimmed eyes, and the uplifted features 
of an immense assembly of people is denied to human 
pen. One who has never witnessed such a scene can 
form no adequate idea of the picture there that night. 

But now something else was about to happen. 
Ernest Radcliffe, whose presence had lost none of 
its personal magnetism, but was made more winning 
by an added benignity of countenance, now intro- 
duced a speaker with fitting words. 

The woman, who then stepped forward, needed 
little introduction to such an assembly, for they had 
heard her many times before, but no expression of 
weariness was visible on their faces as she arose. 
She was a tall, slender woman, with her hair combed 
back smoothly under a black bonnet. Her move- 
ments were quick and her manner somewhat dra- 
matic ; but the long black gown was severely plain. 
She possessed a penetrating voice of limited range, 
and well modulated. It occasionally broke as if 
it had been overstrained ; but she threw her whole 
energy into her words and held her audience spell- 
bound from the very beginning. 

p 


226 


EUNICE. 


In very graphic words she gave a glimpse into 
her past life ; how she had been helped and a hope 
stirred within her for better things by the presence 
and love of a little child ; how Christ, from his 
infinite love, had looked upon her, pitied her, helped 
her, and accepted her as his own. Then she added 
an earnest plea that each one present should prove 
this never-failing love and accept Christ as his or 
her personal Saviour. 

When Celia Parkes sat down, Ernest Radcliffe 
lifted his voice in earnest prayer. After a few 
thrilling sentences, he called for some short, vocal 
prayers from either the platform or the audience. 
Not a single listener withdrew. Then he and his 
corps of workers passed among the people as here 
and there one signified his desire to live a better 
life and accept Christ as his personal Saviour. Thus 
it was every evening : the room was filled, some- 
times crowded, and the people heard the same earn- 
est appeals, the same uplifting music, and listened 
to the story of the Christ’s never-dying love. 

Such was the work of Ernest and Eunice Rad- 
cliffe, aided by Celia Parkes, in a neglected quarter 
of New York City. Their lives were very busy 
ones. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons they de- 
voted to the reception of their friends, from all con- 
ditions of society. Otherwise their time was divided 
into systematic work, interspersed with intervals of 
rest and home seclusion. Not a day passed in 
which some time was not devoted to the quiet 
blessedness of homemaking. After Olway was 
born, Eunice left the public mission work in Celia’s 
hands, with the exception that she still sang at the 


CONTRASTS. 


227 


evening services. But with all this hard labor, 
Ernest’s endurance knew no bounds, although 
Eunice was obliged to go home every year in order 
to recuperate. Mr. Radcliffe, however, only allowed 
himself two weeks in the heat of the summer. 

On her ‘‘reception days ” Eunice Radcliffe had a 
class of women who came to her for heart-to-heart 
talks, and ably seconded the noble effort to help 
the people, as they had been helped. After one 
such talk, Mrs. Radcliffe spoke to Celia Parkes, 
who was still in the room, saying : 

“ I think, Celia, there is another call for you in 
your prison work. Mrs. Norton said to me this 
afternoon that she had heard of a man who is a 
very troublesome prisoner; so much so that the 
keepers are disturbed, and no one seems to have 
any influence over him. She thought you might 
possibly want to try to help him, as you never 
have despaired even in the worst cases. I believe 
he had heard of you in some way, and seemed not 
averse to seeing you. That is what led her to 
mention it to me. I said I would speak to you, 
although I knew your time was overtaxed now, 
and Celia, I would not advise you to make a special 
attempt, unless you feel impressed that it is your 
duty.” 

“ Did she say what sort of a man ? ” Celia asked, 
with a show of interest. 

“ No ; nothing more definite than I have told 
you.” 

“I will think about it,” Celia returned. 

Just then Ernest Radcliffe came in. 

“ Dear, here is another grand letter from Richard, 


228 


EUNICE. 


with money for new hymn books. His gifts are 
not to be counted ! 

Eunice’s face beamed. 

‘‘There are not many men like Richard Win- 
throp, except Garton and Ernest, who is Richard 
Winthrop plus Garton Olway, and more than I can 
ever think besides,” she declared, emphatically. 

But even after eight years, she sometimes colored 
under her husband’s gaze, especially when he spoke 
in praise of Richard Winthrop, and of his interest 
in their work. A faint blush came to her cheek 
now at the recurrence of a thought which had 
flashed upon her mind not long since in connection 
with Richard Winthrop’s letter of congratulation, 
written' so long ago. But she looked up at her 
husband with conscious rapture. No other man, 
even when she strove to be impartial, ever stood 
any higher than his shoulder. He always surpassed 
all others. 

Ernest put the letter in her hand saying : 

“You may read it. But I want to tell you that 
Richard says he may possibly run over to New York 
sometime by-and-by, when business is less press- 
ing, and if he does, he would be delighted to look in 
on us again. He thinks possibly about Easter time. 
Does that suit, dear ? ” Then turning so as to in- 
clude Celia in the pleasure of hospitable desires, he 
added : “ Now, if we could only have a reunion 
here of all our friends about that time, I should be — 
simply too happy for utterance ! ” 

Once in a great while there was a touch of boy- 
ishness about Ernest Radcliffe, and it impressed 
one as peculiar, because the manliness was usually 


CONTRASTS. 


22g 

SO prominent in his personality. Eunice had learned 
to regard it as a sign of overwork ; therefore she 
arose immediately and persuaded him sit down in 
her chair, with his head upon the headrest, while 
she perched upon the arm and stroked his fore- 
head, holding one hand over his eyes until he closed 
them in obedient silence. He, in turn, accepted 
this as a sign that Eunice had taken matters into 
her own hands, and that he was expected to submit, 
which he did without much reluctance. 

Major Dixon’s,’' said a voice, as the footman 
was closing a carriage that stood at Morange Hall. 

Senator Winthrop always accompanied his sister, 
as her husband now seldom found it convenient, 
his press of business keeping him detained until 
the last moment. The social engagement to which 
they were going was a semi-private affair. 

Those present had met many times before and 
were quite familiar with each other. Mademoiselle 
Lasee was there, looking unusually attractive in a 
most becoming gown. As usual she was surrounded 
by a group of friends to whom she chatted brightly, 
now in her fluent French, and then in her quaint, 
half-broken English. However, to those who knew 
her best, she seemed distrait^ and did not appear to 
the best advantage until the arrival of Mrs. Morange 
and her brother, Richard Winthrop. 

‘‘ How beautiful Mrs. Morange must have been,” 
remarked one gentleman to another, as she was 
greeted by the host and hostess. 

‘‘When.^” asked the other. Certainly not in 
her youth, for she is young now.” 


230 


EUNICE. 


Oh, I know you think Mrs. Morange is loveli- 
ness personified, but I knew her when she was far 
more beautiful. As to her youth, she is not old, to 
be sure, but her brother is several years her junior.’' 

Impossible ! He looks at least ten years 
older.” 

The women can challenge time to touch them, 
while we men have to succumb at the dawn of 
manhood,” returned the older gentleman, as they 
approached two women. ‘‘We were just com- 
menting on the youthfulness of a certain lady pre- 
sent,” he explained, “who is to my knowledge much 
older than her brother. But the latter, as Mr. 
Taunton remarks, looks to be ten years her senior. 
It is a magic beauty has, I suppose ? ” 

“ I know whom you mean,” answered the younger 
woman, with unconcealed delight, which belied the 
sad tones of the words which followed ; “ but alas ! 
we all have not that magic charm. However, you 
men claim all the wisdom, and that makes you 
brave and old, I suppose. One cannot have every- 
thing,” she added, gayly. “ But as for Senator 
Winthrop, he is simply precociously mature ! ” 

“ You are too bad,” he returned, as the woman 
turned to move away. 

“Whatever there is about it, the women all 
adore Winthrop you see, Taunton. There is your 
model if you want the plaudits of the fair sex. To 
be sure, Winthrop is handsome, in his way, and all 
that ; but beauty alone does not attract women. 
Take my word for it! He might be a veritable 
Apollo, and the modern woman would make fun of 
him. You see I know it isn’t all beauty that wins 


CONTRASTS. 


231 


the belle. I am a husband myself, you know, and 
Juliette knows she did not marry me for my Roman 
nose.'' 

The younger man laughed, and the other went on : 

‘‘ Let me tell you what Juliette said, when I asked 
her why all the women were so charmed with 
Winthrop. ' Oh, he is like Bayard, sans peur et sans 
reproche. He is a modern King Arthur. He draws 
you out of yourself, and then shows you some 
beautiful vision of which you have dreamed all your 
life, but never caught a glimpse of before. He just 
lives in that ideal realm all the while.' When I said, 
^ Pshaw ! that is woman’s nonsense ; Winthrop is a 
man like the rest of us — an every-day, live, flaw- 
picking senator ; and though he debates like a 
major, he will not yield a point when he thinks he 
is right,' she just laughed and declared that I was 
Hhe obtusest man; for, of course, that was just 
what Mr. Winthrop was, a man, with all the other 
nonsense (like a halo about his head) ; and that was 
just the reason why she and every other right- 
minded woman admired him. Such a man ought 
to be put on a pedestal.’ ” 

‘‘I declare, it is worth getting married just to 
learn something about the sex,” commented his 
companion. 

Ah ! you are wrong there, my unsophiscated 
innocent,” he answered, in his drollest manner. 

When you are married, you are more blind than 
ever, so that the other advantage does not 
count.” 

These two congenial men were walking toward a 
group of other men, when dinner was announced, 


232 


KUNICE. 


and each taking a partner, the guests entered the 
dining room. 

Returning to the reception room, and moving 
among those present, Richard Winthrop encount- 
ered Mademoiselle Lasee, who had been requested 
to sing. He moved with her toward the piano. 
Their conversation was as usual, gay and bright on 
her part, while he revealed the clear depths of seri- 
ous reflection, which always lay underneath the 
ripple of wit or pleasantry that occasionally gleamed 
upon the surface. As they neared the instrument, 
she said something which made him look very 
grave. 

I look to you, monsieur, as a hunted maiden 
might look to her sworn knight, for protection,'' she 
whispered. 

Protection from what. Mademoiselle Lasee," he 
queried, paternally. Yourself ? " 

‘‘ No, no, monsieur," she said, with some impa- 
tience ; from these devouring wolves," making a 
quick gesture toward the group surrounding the 
piano, and smiling up into his face. 

‘‘ There are wolves in sheep’s clothing — -ravening 
wolves,” he replied, in a low voice ; ^‘but these are 
not such. They are rather the lambs which are 
being ruthlessly slaughtered." His searching glance 
had in it now no admiration, only a sort of tender 
pity. ‘‘Mademoiselle Lasee,” he continued, with 
earnestness ; “ I must tell you openly that I have 
no preference for this sort of thing. Life to me is 
too real to be made the stage for comedy only. If 
we are to be friends, I must meet your true self. 
There is no friendship outside of that. I would 


CONTRASTS. 


233 


gladly be your friend ; I would gladly help you to 
protection from your real foes, if I were able ; but 
until you can respond to such friendliness we had 
better part. I speak thus plainly, because I am 
sure of whom I am addressing — you can trust me 
never to betray you, but do not suppose that I am 
ignorant of such things.” 

Richard Winthrop was aware that he was tread- 
ing on very dangerous ground, but he was confident 
what the effect would be. 

Mademoiselle Lasee flushed, looked down, then 
up again, with a new light in her eyes. But she 
only said : 

“ I trust you, monsieur, for you do seem to be 
my friend. And I need such a friend. You have 
shown me that I am far below your ideal. Oh ! if 
some one had only talked in this way to me before. 
But no ! no one ever did, or perhaps ever cared to, 
before I met you. The others never seemed to 
think of such things. You will be my friend.? 
You will not contemn me altogether.?” she ques- 
tioned. 

But they were at the piano, and it was time for 
her to sing. The satellites, paradoxical as it may 
sound, were becoming uneasy in their orbits, and 
some one in the farther end of the room was re- 
marking, sotto voce: 

Now that Mr. Winthrop is by her side, we may 
wait for the song.” 

Just then a chord on the instrument was struck, 
and a moment later rang out her clear, flute-like 
notes. It was a minor selection from an opera, and 
burst upon the gay listeners like a pitiful appeal. 


m 


EUNICE. 


Her companion was amazed ; his face slowly- 
lighted up with real pleasure. Like Undine, she 
had found her soul at last. 

When Richard Winthrop went into the public fray 
to work for the glory of his country, he did it much 
as the knights of old espoused some noble cause. 
The beautiful revelation which elucidated for him 
his life’s mystery, as he sat poring over his Greek 
Testament, eight years ago, did not beckon him 
away from his already chosen career ; but instead 
shed a new lustre upon it, as if a radiance from 
above streamed on the path before him, revealing 
the needs of a peculiar service, that demanded a 
heroism, the very intangibility of which gave it a new 
attraction to his eyes. But, as he had even then 
foreseen, the reality proved to be a dearly bought 
pleasure. He said to himself again and again that 
it would have been easier to work a lifetime in the 
slums. But when his ideal life seemed impossible, 
the conviction always came : ‘‘ There is the need, 
and thou art the man. Hardly another will see the 
need, therefore the responsibility rests upon thee.” 
To him this was a personal commission, and again 
he would press forward with new courage, leaving 
the shattered fragments of his doubts behind him. 

‘‘ I believe her example has shaped my lifework! ” 
Richard Winthrop said to himself in his hour of 
secret meditation, one day about two weeks after 
the dinner at Major Dixon’s. ‘‘At least, she struck 
the keynote to which my life’s melody seems to 
have been set. Pre-established harmony again — I 
am growing Leibnitzian ! ” Sitting in his favorite 


CONTRASTS. 235 

attitude, he gazed out across the park, as the leaves 
rustled in the gentle breeze, and added : 

She simply ignored everything but my better 
self, and feasted that with all she had, and the gift 
was bountiful ; but there are other ways, though they 
incur more risk.” The thought seemed to suggest 
something unpleasant, but he pursued the train 
relentlessly to the end. ** What else was I to do ? 
And if the spark may be kindled, what matters 
the effort it costs ? Moreover the task seemed to 
be thrown across my path.” 

A small marble clock uttered a muffled chime : 
his ‘^silent hour” had passed. Richard Winthrop 
never allowed any business affair to interrupt his 
sacred contemplations, but lived in another world, 
beyond the limitations of time and space, for a little 
while each day, until the low voice before him spoke 
its usual warning. He had grown to love that little 
clock-face, as if it had been a sort of companion — 
the guardian spirit of his study. With a smile at 
his own quaint superstition, he promptly addressed 
himself to his papers, and was soon lost in some 
subject of political investigation. 

That night Mademoiselle Lasee’s uncle gave a 
reception in honor of his niece. Monsieur Las6e 
had decided that they must soon begin their tour 
through America, and so they had decided to say 
“ au revoir ” to their many friends. 

It was a very pleasant occasion, and much enjoyed 
by those present. Mademoiselle Las6e was deter- 
mined that her friends should enjoy the evening, 
and spared no effort toward that end. She herself 
sang once or twice and had never acquitted herself 


236 


EUNICE. 


better. Her voice was sweet and clear, but there 
was an intangible improvement felt in the tones ; 
what it was few, if any, knew. 

Richard Winthrop heard, and smiled as he 
thought: ‘‘Yes, she has found her soul.” How- 
ever, he did not seek her society, nor did he avoid 
her, and yet Mademoiselle Lasee was vaguely an- 
noyed. 

“ I wonder if he treats them all as he treats me,” 
she thought, and then remembered hearing some 
one say that Mr. Winthrop never flattered. “At 
least he has promised to be my friend and to help 
me. I do wish he would come and talk with me 
awhile.” 

“ Mademoiselle Lasee is going to favor us with 
another selection } ” asked one of the group which 
always hovered near her. “ Now do not break my 
heart by telling me that you would prefer some one 
else to turn your leaves, or perhaps to play your 
accompaniment. ' ' 

She blushed slightly, but replied without co- 
quetry : 

“Your heart is broken more easily’ than I had 
supposed.” 

As the tones floated through the rooms that 
evening, they were heard with pleasure by all, and 
yet each one regretted that this would probably be 
the last opportunity to enjoy such a treat for some 
time. 

Before Richard Winthrop withdrew that night, 
he of course had a conversation with Mademoiselle 
Las6e. He wished her pleasure on her journey; 
told her of many points of interest which must not 


CONTRASTS. 


237 


be missed ; and added that he was pleased to be 
able to tell her sincerely that her voice now showed 
what he had hitherto felt that it lacked. As he was 
about to depart from her he offered his hand in a 
fatherly way, but she would not release it until she 
had said, speaking tremulously : 

Monsieur Winthrop, you are the first one who 
has ever read my heart. You have taught me 
much. Indeed, you have shown me that it is possi- 
ble to be true and good ; but, monsieur, you have 
taught me more than you intended to, I fear, for 
you have taught me that it is possible to love.” 

Then she turned to say farewell to others who 
were coming up, and he went away, surprised and 
troubled. 

Fredonia had never found her brother so taciturn 
as when they drove home in the carriage that night. 
He seemed to be utterly lost in thought. 

I hope he is not falling in love.” And she sighed 
with sisterly anxiety. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AN OLD FOE. 

It is a high, solemn, almost awful thought for every in- 
dividual man, that his earthly influence, which has had a 
commencement, will never, through all ages, were he the 
very meanest of us, have an end I What is done is done ; 
has already blended itself with the boundless, ever-living, 
ever-working Universe, and will also work there, for good 
or for evil, openly or secretly, throughout all time. — Carlyle, 

T he same influence that led Richard Winthrop 
into the life he was now living, also gave an 
impetus to another life, which was being manifested 
under very different conditions and circumstances. 
But as the motive is the distinguishing mark of an 
idea, life is a unit wherever found if it bears the 
same essential character. The only difference, if it 
exists, is in degree. 

When Eunice and Ernest Radcliffe entered the 
city mission work, Celia Parkes, her heart all aglow 
with love for Christ, and with remorse spurring her 
on to counteract, if possible, the evil she had al- 
ready wrought, embraced the opportunity offered to 
aid them in their efforts. But she did not realize 
what she had undertaken, neither did she know that 
it was the safeguard to the happiness so recently 
found. She was dominated by the impulse, and 
with the new prospect came new courage and 
strength. Energy she had never lacked, and her 
238 


AN OLD FOB. 


239 


endurance seemed wonderful.. She would some- 
times say, when others were surprised that her 
slight frame did not give out : 

Oh, I am as wiry as a modern cable. I bend 
and twist under the strains of life ; but I do not 
break. If it were not so I should have broken long 
ago.” 

And she was right. Now she was slight and 
pale, and wore a habitually sad or somewhat melan- 
choly expression, which never entirely passed away. 
One day a woman to whom Celia was explaining 
the blessedness of a life with Christ, asked her 
dryly : 

‘‘Then why do you always look so sad ? ” 

“ It is my mark,” Celia replied, without smiling. 
“ The scarlet letter that has been branded into my 
heart, or like Cain's mark, in my forehead ; but it 
shall be for this life only. Sometime I shall wear 
the new name in my forehead, and then my sadness 
will flee away forever.” 

Yet Celia Parkes was not really sad in heart ; she 
was too thoroughly absorbed in her work for that, 
and her pensive face was a sweet messenger to many 
a sin-sick soul ; for she could tell these poor women 
of all they had ever done, and picture their sorrow 
and despair so vividly that, when she spoke to them 
of the better life, with its release from bondage, 
they could believe her with implicit trust. 

Thus the years went by ; toilsome, eventful years, 
brightened by much joy of reaping; but saddened 
often also by bitter memories of things that could 
never be straightened. Oftentimes some obstacle 
would cross her path, and with sorrowful eyes, she 


240 


EUNICK. 


would recognize it as the very barrier she herself 
had set up so long ago. There it was, come to 
meet her with its hateful taunt at last, like a demon 
that had been intimidated but not entirely over- 
come. 

‘‘ Oh, the meshes of circumstances that our life 
weaves about itself ! Even now, sometimes all 
things seem at cross purposes. It is almost of no 
use to try to disentangle myself. I am in a hope- 
less maze ! '' This was Celia’s cry. But Eunice 
Radcliffe was always near with her comfort and up- 
ward-looking eyes, and like Paul, she pointed ever 
toward the future, and spoke of present joy and 
privilege of service ; and Celia Parkes would take 
heart again, and remember what a God was hers. 

For a long time Celia watched the papers for 
news of the murderer of her husband, and was in 
constant fear of meeting him when out on some 
errand of mercy. But this passed away in time, 
and she concluded that he was dead. 

Perhaps he has killed himself — as I might have 
done,” she thought, shuddering at the horrible 
thought. ‘‘ Oh ! If I had only known then what 
was my condition and my danger ! ” 

She often wondered what she should do if she 
did meet him and they recognized each other. But 
she always shrank from the thought, and said : 

God will not permit that punishment.” 

And yet if you could do him any good ? ” some 
inward voice replied. 

‘‘ Oh ! but I could not. He would kill me. He 
is wicked — past redemption ! ” 

Ah ! But what were you ? ” came the answer. 


AN OI.D FOE. 241 

And she would bow her head in shame and con- 
demnation. 

So God help me ! ” she prayed. But this was 
when they had first come to the city. Now she 
went along cheerfully and bravely on her mission. 

She was going to visit her prisoners as usual one 
Lord’s Day afternoon. In fact she had gained 
quite a reputation among them as the ‘‘woman 
preacher, who talks straight to your heart, and 
makes you see visions for hours after she has 
gone.” 

“ She has a face like a pitying Nemesis,” de- 
clared one of the prisoners, who could speak seven 
languages, and knew his mythology by heart. 

“ She’s been to the deeps herself,” said another. 
“You can see that ; but she can talk till you think 
you’re the very devil himself.” 

On this day Celia Parkes was on her way to 
speak words of warning and hope to these poor 
erring ones once more. As she entered the gloomy 
walls, a keeper came to her and said : 

“ One of the men wants to see the ‘ woman 
preacher.’ He is a new man and has been a hard 
case. So do as you think best about it ; for the 
man is one of the worst we have. He is so sly and 
treacherous. If you go to him, I would not advise 
you to stand very near to his cell, as it is not likely 
he will care much for your praying, and he may 
have some trick.” 

The keeper appeared quite solicitous, but he was 
a kind-hearted man, and he had often been anxious 
before, when the visit turned out to be for the good 
of the prisoner. But now a sudden rush of feeling 
Q 


EUNICE. 


343 

came over Celia ; but with a slight tremor she re- 
plied : 

‘‘I have no fear. Many a one who comes to 
scoff returns to pray. I will go to his cell at once.’' 

This particular cell had an extra grating, and 
was situated at a dark end of the corridor. The 
occupant crouched close to the wall, but was facing 
the door of the cell. His elbows rested on his 
knees, and his hands completely covered his face. 

Celia Parkes drew near to the iron grating and 
peered in ; her sympathy was excited at once. Had 
not the ‘Tittle dear Dora” touched her when she 
was in the same attitude of dejection ? 

“My poor man,” she said; “I have come to 
bring words of hope and comfort to your sin- 
troubled heart. Are you in despair ? Look up 
and find relief. Are you ready to die ? That is the 
question! Nay, you are not ready to die. You 
must first get ready to live.” 

The man did not move, but still kept his face 
covered by his hands. 

Celia opened her Bible. 

“ Listen to the word of Life I ‘ As it is written : 
There is none righteous; no, not one. There is 
none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh 
after God. . . 

“ ‘ Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, 
that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof. For the 
wages of sin is death ; but the gift of God is eternal 
life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.’” 

Celia read these and other passages in her expres- 
sive, dramatic way. Her voice trembled with sym- 
pathy, and her face shone with pitying love. Still 


AN OLD FOB. 243 

the man's face was covered, and he uttered not a 
word. 

Oh, wretched man,” she continued, peering into 
the cell. I was once as wretched as you are. I 
too did not know that the great all-searching eye, 
which pierced my cowering heart, was weeping; 
weeping because of my wretchedness. I too was 
reaping the wages of sin ; I too was tasting the 
bitter dregs of death ; determined in my madness 
to drain the cup to the last drop, and then slink 
away out of sight of that awful eye. But a little 
loving face looked up into mine, and taught me that 
the eye was that of God. Love ! the blessed face 
of Christ is love, standing by your side, touching 
your arm. He stands tenderly, patiently, at the 
door of your heart, as I stand here at the door of 
your cell. He is weeping. Jesus is weeping; not 
because he gave his life for you on the cross to 
save you from death and woe ; but, oh, think of it ! 
because you pierce him now again and again ; him 
who loves you as no man loveth. You pierce his 
wounded heart, and will not listen to his love.” 

Suddenly the man sprang to his feet, and came 
close to the iron grating. 

‘‘Well, ‘Star of the Night-shades,' so you have 
turned preacher, have you ? ” 

“ Oh, my God ! ” Celia gasped, staggering back. 

“ You have improved,” sneered the man. “ Really, 
that was tragic ! Not quite such an amusing strain 
as you used to give ; but, for the occasion, it could 
not be improved.” 

Just then the keeper came up with a frightened 
look, and asked what was the matter. Celia Parkes 


244 


EUNICK. 


controlled herself with great effort, and whispered 
something to the man at which he seemed reassured, 
and turned away again, but with the evident inten- 
tion of keeping a close watch. 

She drew nearer the cell, clutching the grating 
for support, and whispered, hoarsely : 

‘‘ The vengeance of God is certain. My punish- 
ment has come ; but his mercy and strength are 
mine also. He has forgiven me all the past. But 
even he cannot let me undo it all. In the name of 
all that has ever passed between us, pray to this 
God before it is too late.” 

Perhaps you would be pleased to pray for me ? ” 
suggested the man, tauntingly. ‘‘You might pray 
out loud like a love letter, you know, because you 
could whisper a postscript on the sly, ‘ send him to 
the devil this minute ! ’ You see I knew you afore- 
time,” he sneered; “and when I heard what a 
figure you were cutting around here, thinks I, ‘ I 
have her now.’ ” He seemed to gloat over the 
anguish he was causing. 

Celia Parkes was praying : “ O, my God, my 
Christ, save .me from this man ! And, if possible, 
save his soul.” 

Soon he whispered, maliciously: “You played 
traitor with me, perhaps you remember ; or have 
you forgotten that little incident ? What do you 
think of my doing the same with you ? ” 

“ God save me ! ” she prayed, without moving. 
She felt that she was entirely at his mercy, but she 
was unable to move. 

“ It took you to do it,” he continued. “ I had 
my match for once ; but I haven’t got my match 


AN OLD FOE. 245 

now, I can tell you. I took lessons, you see.’' This 
last was almost a hiss. 

“My punishment is greater than I can bear,” 
prayed Celia Parkes, as her fingers pressed her 
burning eyeballs. 

“ They have me here for a little while ; but I will 
scale the walls yet.” He gave a demoniacal chuckle. 
“Then we will see ! I’ll come a wooing in a differ- 
ent way, perhaps. It will probably be more pleas- 
ing to you than my former courting. Y ou see, love 
is stronger than death ; I don’t wish to go hence 
till I take my bride along with me.” It was cer- 
tainly the voice of a fiend. 

Drawing herself up with a gleam of triumph, and 
looking straight into the villain’s eye, Celia Parkes 
exclaimed : 

“No one, not even Satan himself, shall be able 
to pluck me out of Christ’s hand. I am more than 
conqueror through him that hath loved me, and 
given himself for me. Rejoice not against me, mine 
enemy ; when I fall I shall rise again. I will bear 
the indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned 
against him until he plead my cause for me. He 
will bring me forth to the light, and I shall behold 
his righteousness.” Then lifting up her clasped 
hands, she whispered : 

“ Oh, who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth 
iniquity, and passeth by transgression ! ” And then 
the keeper rushed hurriedly down the passage. 
The “woman preacher” had fallen, and was lying 
unconscious before the cell. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A NEW HOME. 


My true love hath my heart, and I have his, 
By just exchange one for another given. 

I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. 
There never yet was better bargain driven : 
My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 


— Sir P, Sydney. 



FEW days after the incident which occurred in 


jfl the prison, Miss Vina Parkes, teacher of Latin 
and algebra in her own city high school, was on 
her way to the public library to exchange the book 
she held in her hand for another by the same 
author. She was alighting from the street car, and 
about to pass on, when she almost collided with 
some one, and heard a voice saying : 

Vinie ! Vinie ! I was just coming to find you.” 

Vina looked up at the large, dark eyes that smiled 
down upon her, and exclaimed : 

James ! ” 

A span of horses was almost upon them, and they 
barely got out of danger as the driver shouted back 
at them : 

Fools ! ” 

But they walked on, entirely unconcerned as to 
the opinion of the hackman. Both were too happy 
to mind such a slight occurrence as a hair-breadth 
escape from being trampled to death. 


246 


A NEW HOMK. 


247 


‘‘ Where in the world did you come from ? ” de- 
manded Vina, with her old gleeful smile. ‘‘You 
must have dropped from the car roof as I stepped 
off.” 

“I came to town this morning,” James answered, 
with his customary deliberation ; “but just now I 
was on my way to make an important decision in 
my life ” 

“ Don’t let me hinder you in the least,” said Vina, 
stopping with a most innocent gesture. “ I am only 
going to the library to return a book.” She held 
it out, so that he could see the title, “ Innocents 
Abroad.” “The only important thing about my 
errand is that I can hardly wait until I get another 
book of Mark Twain’s---he is oh, so funny ! ” 

“ Vinie, you are the only one who can hinder me,” 
he returned, touching her elbow, as a sign that they 
should walk on ; “ for you are the one who must do 
the deciding.” 

“ I .^ ” she asked, with bewitching astonishment ; 
“ now, Mr. Blake, you know very well that I don’t 
know anything about such things. Business is not 
at all in my line. I hardly know enough to settle 
satisfactorily about my salary.” 

“You ought to know by this time,” he answered 
gravely, “ that it is not about business that I am 
talking; the business is settled already, and I am 
ready to begin my practice. I have my degree, and 
everything, except ” 

“ You have no patients } ” she interrupted, with a 
mischievous twinkle in her eyes. 

“ Yes, I have all the patience in the world.” 

It was the first time Vina had ever heard him 


248 


EUNICE. 


make a pun. She laughed brightly, as she returned : 
‘‘The Job of the nineteenth century! What mon- 
ument are you going to choose ? You know doctors 
have a vital connection with monuments, as well as 
patients.” 

He smiled vaguely as he said : “ Don't talk of 
cold monuments — I want a wife.” 

“ Monuments ! A wife ! ” she* exclaimed, in mock 
dismay. “No one but honest James Blake would 
ever mention those two in the same breath. I hope 
you will not be so rash in the presence of the 
chosen one. Take this warning from an old friend, 
James, else you will never succeed.” 

Once this sort of gayety would have troubled 
James Blake ; but now he appeared rather to enjoy 
its drollery. 

“You are a little witch,” he declared; “for you 
have certainly bewitched me.” 

“ I bewitched you ? ” she asked, between the in- 
terruptions of meeting others, who seemed to think 
they also had a right to the sidewalk. “ Then you 
will want to have me executed, I suppose,” she said, 
sorrowfully ; “ you old Puritan I But, I dare say, 
you would find a skeleton in your closet — after- 
ward ! ” 

“ Vinie, Vinie I This is enough I Don't go on 
in that strain, please ; it pains me.” 

“Physicians ought to bear a little of the pain 
they cause, you know,” she returned, persuasively. 

“They have theirs getting ready for the ordeal 
of life. Oh, Vinie, you can never realize how I have 
longed for you ; how I have had to wait, and wait, 
with sometimes little hope ” 


A NEW HOME 249 

‘‘ Tf I can never realize it” she interrupted, more 
soberly, then why tell me ? 

They were near the library now. James Blake 
gazed a moment at her serious face, and a flush of 
pleasure stole over his countenance. 

‘‘Vinie, you know you love me, whatever you 
say. Will you not reward me by giving me one 
promise ? ” 

She stopped a moment, and pretended to write 
upon her book cover, saying at the same time, as if 
reading aloud : 

‘‘June eighteenth : zero days from date, I promise 
to pay to James G. Blake, m. d., or order, my heart's 
fortune and nonsense with interest, value received. 

“Vina Parkes." 

Then looking up with a mischievous laugh, she 
left him and hurried into the library. 

“ If she isn’t the brightest, merriest, truest little 
darling ! Mother surely cannot help loving her.” 

She came out soon again, hugging her book. 

“ Are you satisfied now, you ogre ? ” she inquired. 

But she need not have asked. For once in his 
life, James Blake looked magnificent. He made her 
take his arm, even though it was not yet dusk. 

“ They will all know that we are engaged,” said 
Vina, reprovingly. 

James confessed that he was willing to advertise 
the fact. 

“ But some of them know me,” she urged ; “ there 
comes one of my pupils now.” 

James allowed the hand to be withdrawn. Though 


250 


KUNICK. 


he cared nothing for such things himself, he was very 
considerate of the feelings of others. 

Now that Vina had really pledged herself, and 
James Blake had received her promise, there was 
no reason why she should not have all the ‘^fun’’ 
she liked. She knew that James really enjoyed her 
bright sayings, although he could not always keep 
up with her, and it was so delightful to watch the 
expressions that came and went on his face at her 
pleasure. Of course James knew that she loved 
him ; but in spite of this, or rather perhaps, be- 
cause of this, she enjoyed teasing him a little. 

But now James was talking about their prospects 
in life, and he was intensely in earnest. He wanted 
to be married very soon, and he proposed that their 
home should be in Milston. 

It is a growing place, you know,” he said, in 
defense of his proposition ; ‘‘ and near the city. 
There will be a good large practice — rather scat- 
tered to be sure, but I would not mind that ; and 
besides, father and mother would like to have us.” 
He watched her face anxiously. 

She grew sober at this. Your mother wants us 
to live with them ? ” she asked, skeptically. 

‘‘Yes, dear,” he answered, as if trying to shield 
her from something. 

“Now, James,” she went on, “I know she never 
really liked me ; I could see that at Milston. You 
are sure that she knows I am the one you are to 
bring home ? ” 

“ Perfectly sure ! ” he answered. “ She always 
knew it never could be any one else, and if she 
did object once, she is entirely reconciled now, 


A NEW HOME. 251 

since he was going on, but stopped with a 

quick blush. 

Since ? repeated Vina, interrogatively. 

Oh, Vina ! I did not mean to say what I 
started to : it was not necessary ; but now I shall 
have to ; since your sister has come back and is so 
different, she has no more fears for you.’’ Certainly 
James had little tact, but his honest love overpow- 
ered all Vina’s recoiling pride. Oh, Vina dear ! 
you know I did not mean to hurt you,” he added, 
with quick anxiety. 

^^No, James,” she said, after a moment; ^‘and 
there was some reason.” It cost Vina a great effort 
to confess it, but James’ frankness constrained her. 

At one time, I might have done something that 
would disgrace you, and I shudder now to think how 
it might have ended. But God and Miss Eunice 
saved me.” Her lips quivered, and as James took 
her arm in his, she looked up at him and said, ‘‘ Oh, 
James ! I did suffer.” 

Vina felt the comfort of his strong sympathy. 
After a time she smiled : ‘‘But that is past now.” 

Then he asked about Celia, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Radcliffe, and spoke with fervent reverence of the 
latter. Soon, however, they recurred to the subj ect 
so near to both — their marriage — and James said : 

“Yes; father and mother are both anxious to 
have us live with them. Mother would do most of 
the work, as always, you know ; and the house is 
large enough. They want us for company, and I 
don’t want to refuse mother. But if you would 
prefer ” 

“No, James,” she broke in; “I want to go just 


252 


EUNICE. 


where you say. I like Milston, for there is where 
I first saw you and Miss Eunice, and we could come 
to the city often.” A new thought seemed to occur 
to her. 

What is it ” he asked. 

‘‘ Oh, mother ! ” she said. ‘‘ Mrs. Olway, for she 
is a mother to me, and I do love her so ! ” 

‘‘You hate to leave her.^” he questioned, with a 
bit of a jealous pang. 

“ For any one but you,” she replied, in a way that 
more than satisfied him. 

So it was settled. Vina was to have a few weeks 
to arrange her wardrobe, to complete the school 
year and resign her position. Then she warned 
all her friends that they would better not engage 
themselves without privilege of furlough, for she 
had set a day on which she wished to be the ob- 
served of all observers. 

When this happy news reached New York, it 
came as a beam of sunlight. Vina’s letter said : 

“ Now you must come to the wedding. In fact, 
I shall not be married, if you are not present, and 
you know what that would mean too well to refuse. 
Eunice, do persuade Celia that she can come a little 
early to see that her sister is doing everything prop- 
erly. I never felt the need of a multitude of coun- 
sellors as now. Do all consider how momentous 
the occasion is, and come. Come early !” 

Celia Parkes had not yet recovered from the 
shock of her prison visit. She had fallen in a dead 
faint, and was brought home unconscious. Eunice 
divined the truth almost at once, for Celia had often 
confessed her fears ; and she felt greatly alarmed. 


A NKW HOMK. 253 

The best thing is to send her out of the city at 
once,” Ernest Radcliffe advised, 

Yes ; up to mother,” Eunice replied, rejoiced at 
the happy coincidence. 

So it came about that Vina was more than de- 
lighted to learn that her sister would come immedi- 
ately, and remain until after the wedding. 

It proved to be beneficial to Mrs. Olway that she 
had Celia to cheer and nurse just at this time, for 
she found it a trial to lose Vina. The girl had be- 
come very dear to her since Eunice was married, 
and this queen of mothers had begun to look upon 
Vina as a daughter. Though she had not been 
entirely blind as to what might some time happen 
— for Vina had confided in her to the extent of 
saying that James Blake was the ‘‘nicest” young 
man she had ever met ; yet she always looked upon 
it as in the distant future — so blind are the best of 
us to what we do not wish to occur. 

Vina herself was deeply touched after she had 
imparted the news of her engagement ; but chiefly 
on her own account. 

“ You have been such a mother to me; but now 
I love James best,” she said. 

Mrs. Olway gave her blessing, and appeared in- 
terested in the slightest detail of the bridal prepa- 
ration ; while another trial etched its indelible mark 
upon her face. 

But Celia needed a great deal of attention. Vina 
was greatly shocked at the fact of Celia’s meeting 
with her husband’s murderer ; and was even wrought 
up to quite a pitch of excitement the first night 
after hearing about it. She imagined all sorts of 


254 


EUNICE. 


things that might happen to Celia, at the hands of 
this man. But her fears soon wore off under the 
spell of her own busy happiness, and she tried to 
interest Celia in other things, and make her forget 
the horrible affair.'' 

Oh, Celia, sister, do put off that sad look ! Of 
course I know you have had trouble, but surely it 
will not spoil all your life," said Vina to her one 
day, as the two sat over some sewing. Mrs. Olway 
was not there. 

But, Vina," Celia answered, trying to smile, ‘‘it 
follows me like a shadow. I do not mean that its 
gloom shall overshadow others ; I would not mar 
your happiness for the world, you know, and I am 
not hopeless yet. I shall be myself again soon, I 
trust ; but I shall always be more or less haunted. 
Oh, Vina ! my life is an awful warning ; perhaps 
God wants to make me a warning ; that may be the 
most I can do now." 

Vina laid aside her work, and came and sat on 
the stool by her sister, for she had learned to ex- 
press ready sympathy. 

“ Oh, Celia," she said, ‘* think of all those you 
have cheered ! Think of all you have helped to 
save! You have done a wonderful work there in 
New York, as every one says. I have sometimes 
thought you have done more than you ever could 
have done, if you had not gone astray yourself." 

“ Never say that, Vina," declared Celia, solemnly ; 
“ never say that I Think of the evil I did which I 
can never undo — never ! That evil grows just as 
the good grows. What little I do now is only like 
gleaning a few handfuls at the last." 


A NEW HOME. 255 

‘‘But oh, Celia, there is rejoicing in heaven over 
one sinner that repenteth.” 

“ Yes, dear,'' and Celia smiled through her tears ; 
“that is a glorious truth; but think what might 
have been avoided, and what might have been done 
in those early years if I had only known ; and what 
mother suffered." She burst into tears again — the. 
tears of remorse. After a while she added : “ I 
had no strength then, and no one— — " but just here 
with a sudden impulse, she clasped Vina and said 
fervently : “ I am so glad that Eunice brought you 
here. Oh, if others only realized their responsibil- 
ity as these do, misery and sin and wretchedness 
would flee away." 

Mrs. Olway found them sitting thus, and softly 
laid a hand on each head, saying : 

“ My children, let not your hearts be troubled." 

And then Mollie came to call them to supper. 

As matters now stood, James Blake felt a strange 
affinity for city life, and came in quite often ; more 
frequently in fact than Mrs. Blake deemed neces- 
sary. 

This woman who was so fond of her son, had 
made herself consent, and heartily too, to his mar- 
riage ; and she felt that she should succeed just as 
well in making herself love her new daughter ; but 
she was still willing to put off the fatal day, and 
secretly claimed for herself her son's entire atten- 
tion until the time should arrive. But when she 
saw him pining for Vina, she let him go smilingly 
without a word of reproach, and lavished her over- 
flow of affection upon John, who was as fearful as 
ever of hidden consequences. 


256 


EUNICE. 


‘‘ See here, John,’' she said one night after James 
had gone to the city, ‘‘you will have to fill your 
own place and James’ too. Can you do it ? Do 
you feel equal to it ? ” She tried to be gay, and al- 
ways laughed herself out of despondency. 

“Oh, James is going to forget all about us, 
thinking of her,” John sighed: “We might better 
have let them go off by themselves, and perhaps 
he would have done better starting in the city any- 
way. It has all gone wrong, and I knew it would 
as soon as James went away to school, and ” 

“There, there, John! Now that is enough. 
You know you will have to take back every word 
as soon as I tell you that James could never have 
been a farmer ; and that he is just cut out for a 
doctor ; and that he has paid off all his debts ; and 
he has a splendid prospect ; and, after all, his falling 
in love is natural, perfectly natural, though we are 
getting so old we don’t see it as we used to — but 
we fell in love once, you remember. Now, isn’t it 
so .? ” 

She finished this energetic harangue with a 
good-natured laugh, and John was forced to say : 

“ I suppose you are right, Harriet ! You always 
can see it straight, though I often get it all crooked 
again, thinking it over.” 

“Yes, yes! you old chronic thinker. You just 
must talk more and stop this horrid thinking.” 

She was rubbing his head now, and smoothing 
down, or rather making a noble effort to smooth 
down his hair the right way. It always stood the 
other way ; but then it was so heavy and thick that 
it could hardly do otherwise than stand up. 


A NEW HOME. 


257 


Harriet Blake always smoothed out her own 
cares and annoyances by ‘‘doctoring up” John; 
and soon her jealousy of Vina was swallowed up in 
the attempt to make the house comfortable ; and 
later in reading aloud, while her companion dozed 
in his large easy-chair. Nevertheless, she went 
right on reading, as she enjoyed the exercise, and 
it made the subject clearer. 

“ One's own voice is a comfort. It is like another 
person almost. Perhaps that is why a good many 
like to hear themselves talk so well ; they imagine 
it is some one else,” she thought, after John had 
launched far out on the sea of dreams, and was ap- 
parently beginning to double the Cape of Snore- 
dom. 

This juncture in the voyage was always a signal 
for revery. 

“John must be thinking hard, and I fear he has 
got his thoughts into a hopeless mess by the sound. 
They all seem to be weeping and gnashing their 
teeth. I wonder if I hadn’t better interfere, and 
set them straight again.” 

Harriet Blake received an immense amount of 
pleasure from her husband’s foibles, all by herself. 
She would not admit their existence to a neighbor, 
nor did she ever expose their true character to their 
owner. As she now glanced at him furtively, she 
thought : 

“ What would I do if anything should happen to 
John.?” 

The idea was unbearable, and she chased it away 
by sending a long Macaulay sentence bounding and' 
rebounding at its heels. She quite revelled in the 
R 


258 


EUNICE. 


historian's style and gave her voice full play. The 
echo may possibly have reached the boundaries of 
the aforementioned cape, as certain discords began 
to grow less distinct. 

By this time, James’ step was heard in the hall, 
and the mother instinct was alert. She was not 
disappointed. James came in, walking softly, as he 
knew the father’s failing, and sat down by his 
mother. His face was radiant with happiness and 
all the mother jealousy was forgotten. He was her 
son — then and forevermore. 

James Blake was an object of jealousy elsewhere 
than at home. His appearance at the Olway resi- 
dence of late had not been welcomed by all the 
family. Dora was really quite determined to break 
it up altogether when she heard that he was to 
marry Vina. The engagement was fully as distaste- 
ful to Hollister ; and the two planned to prevent 
the culmination of the catastrophe if possible. 
Dora was almost twelve, but it was vain to tell her 
that Aunt Eunice got married, and of course Vina 
would do the same. She approved of neither wed- 
ding. It was all a vexation and a deceit. She had 
expected always to have Vina to tell her stories. 
Indeed, Vina had become quite a fixture in the nur- 
sery, and at last Hollister threatened to explain 
the matter to the ‘‘hateful man,” and have the 
thing stopped. Vina was greatly amused by their 
lamentations, and she herself felt that it would be 
hard to leave the children. 

“ It would be under other circumstances,” she 
whispered to herself. 

Vina’s marriage made quite a change in the en- 


A NEW HOME. 


259 


tire family. Her bright ways and general adapta- 
bility to circumstances had endeared her to Garton’s 
share of the household as well as to his mother. 
Nothing but the extended visit from Eunice after 
the wedding would have satisfied them, and Ernest 
Radcliffe persuaded his wife that it was her double 
duty to stay while he returned with Celia. As 
Eunice really needed the rest, she remained several 
weeks ; and meanwhile she induced her mother to 
accompany her back to New York to spend the fall 
and winter months. 

Thus it came about that Garton and Lena were 
alone with the children for the first time in their 
married life ; and while they grew to be more than 
ever to each other, they yet often found themselves 
lonesome, and heartily, although inaudibly, sympa- 
thized with the plaint of the children, which ex- 
pressed in the words of Dora, was : 

‘‘Vina is just a naughty fraud; and grandma 
doesn’t love us very much after all, because she 
stays away so long.” 

Returning home from business one night in De- 
cember, Garton Olway seized upon a happy thought 
— at least it made his face flush with pleasure. 
The result was that he said to Lena : 

“ See here, wife, what would you say to taking a 
trip of a month or so through the South, with per- 
haps a look at Richard and Eunice on our way 
back, eh ? It would give the children pleasure, and 
I can do it now. Never could arrange to leave my 
work better ! Besides, dearie, you need a change. 
This moping atmosphere is not to be dispelled even 
by society ; now is it ? What say you, little woman. 


26 o 


e:unice. 


to the journey? Speak you the word, and it shall 
be done ! He ended with a bombastic voice and 
manner, comical in the extreme. 

^‘Why, Garton, it is lovely. You know nothing 
would please me better ; and the children — they 
will be just wild with delight.” 

^‘To be sure, it will take them out of school,” 
added Garton, as if he had considered every detail ; 
‘‘ but the sight-seeing will more than make up for 
geography and history, and Dora is none too 
strong.” 

Then they are so bright anyway,” said Lena, 
with satisfaction ; ‘‘ they are way ahead of the 
others now.” 

‘‘Tut, tut, little woman ! ” Garton replied, tweak- 
ing her ear with assumed disapproval ; “ how con- 
ceited it makes one to be a mother ! ” 

“ I suppose nothing of the kind applies to 
fathers ? ” Lena retorted, smiling. 

“Let me see,” Garton reflected; “isn't it every 
crowess that thinks her own the whitest ? ” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE FLIGHT SOUTH. 

Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that aches and 
bleeds with the stigma 

Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can com- 
prehend its dark enigma. 

— Longfellow. 

UAS Mr. Olway written you explicitly at what 
11 time we may expect them } ” The ques- 
tioner looked up dreamily from her treatise on art, 
as Richard Winthrop entered the library. 

‘‘No, Fredonia ; but I shall certainly hear to- 
night. They have stayed longer than they first 
intended. Now they are with friends at Richmond, 
and this will be their next stop. They are having 
a delightful tour, Carton says. The children are 
fairly speechless with admiring wonder ; it was just 
the thing for them.” 

“ I am exceedingly anxious to see Dora,” said 
Fredonia, smiling ; “ since she bids fair to be my 
dangerous rival — our rival, I suppose I should say, 
though I am unwilling to admit any one else in 
that category.” There was a mischievous look in 
her eyes, as she spoke. “ But you don’t show me 
any other of your love letters ? ’’ 

“ I have no others, sister, sad as it may seem ; 
and I am quite content with Dora’s.” 

Mrs. Morange sometimes gave vent to her curi- 

261 


263 


EUNICE. 


osity in this way. She felt that it was next to 
impossible to suppose that Richard would not 
sooner or later fall in love, and as she viewed the 
women whom she knew in Washington, she selected 
one, or possibly two, either of whom might be the 
happy possessor to such good fortune. But Rich- 
ard’s attentions still seemed to be scrupulously im- 
partial. Fredonia had not the faith to believe that 
her personal wishes would be gratified, and she 
could not understand his apparent indifference. 

We hear no more of the French heiress now,” 
Fredonia remarked, after a short silence. ‘‘At one 
time I almost trembled lest she should usurp the 
place of a rival.” 

Richard Winthrop’s face altered, and Fredonia 
was uncertain whether or not to proceed. She 
decided to change the subject. 

“ Oh ! by the way, Richard, does Lena keep up 
her music ? She performed very creditably before 
her marriage, and her voice was quite pretty and 
sweet.” 

“ No,” returned her brother. “I think she has 
basely neglected her practice ; but she makes up 
for it by her strictness with Dora. My little sweet- 
heart shows remarkable skill for a child, and con- 
siderable talent. She inherits from both sides — 
Garton, you know, is latently musical.” 

“ I do remember that his sister was especially so. 
Her voice, I believe, was something wonderful, 
although I heard her only once, and that when she 
was quite young. I thought then she would be 
heard from some time ; but probably it did not 
develop as well as it promised.” 


THE FLIGHT SOUTH. 


263 


‘^Yes, it did!” declared Richard, with fervor. 

She has the most expressively beautiful voice I 
ever heard. It fairly entrances one, or rather it 
exalts and inspires.” 

He had seldom spoken of Eunice Radcliffe to 
Fredonia, and then only when called out uncon- 
sciously, as it were ; but his sister had never before 
noted his manner so keenly as now. An idea 
flashed across her mind. 

Why, yes ; of course, you knew her after she 
grew up. I remember you used to mention her 
occasionally in your letters. You doubtless saw 
much of her at her brother’s.” 

“You mistake there,” replied Richard, on his 
guard ; “ she was seldom at home, but devoted her- 
self almost exclusively to mission work among the 
poor and degraded. She literally poured out her 
life at their feet ; but the perfume spread every- 
where.” He had evidently forgotten himself again. 

“Indeed!” said Fredonia, more interested than 
ever ; “ she must have been a perfect angel ! ” 

Richard gave her a quick glance and replied : 

“Hardly an angel — an angel would not have 
deigned to be so human. You know what her 
mother is,” he added, in explanation ; “ Mrs. Rad- 
cliffe is Mrs. Olway, intensified.” 

“Richard!” exclaimed Fredonia; “could you 
think her all that and not love her ? ” 

Coloring slightly, but with perfect composure, he 
answered : 

“ She is not the sort of woman to speak of fall- 
ing in love with.” And to Richard’s immense re- 
lief, a maid entered to announce the arrival of guests. 


264 


EUNICE. 


They proved to be Garton and his family. They 
had decided to shorten their visit, but the telegram 
announcing the change had not yet reached its 
destination. The guests, however, were more than 
welcome to their friends. Mr. Morange was a 
cordial host, and was desirous that the new-comers 
should enjoy to the utmost their sojourn in the 
nation’s capital. 

You have been traveling through the South ? ” 
said Mr. Morange, inquiringly, looking indolently at 
Mr. Olway. ‘‘What do you think of your native 
land .? ” 

“ I like much better my native State, and the cot 
where I was born,” Garton replied, with his peculiar 
smile. “ Oh, Florida is gorgeous ; especially the 
snakes and crocodiles, isn’t it, Dora he asked, 
turning to her, as she sat on a sofa with Uncle 
Richard, and listening intently to the conversation. 

Dora shuddered, and hid her face under Uncle 
Richard’s coat lapel. 

“ The other Southern States are full of interest, 
and thrill the patriotic heart,” Garton continued, 
looking at his host. “ Old Virginia is a glory — but 
Washington, oh, Washington is the queen of cities.” 

“ We hope to show you all her graces,” inter- 
posed Fredonia, who sat somewhat apart with Lena, 
carrying on a low-voiced conversation. “ We mean 
to take you into her very presence, where she sits 
in majesty upon her throne.” 

“ There isn’t any queen here, is there, papa ? ” 
asked Hollister, who was perched on his father’s 
chair-arm, and leaning sleepily against the paternal 
shoulder. 


THE FLIGHT SOUTH. 


265 


The long journey had somewhat subdued the 
children, and they were quite ready to retire soon 
after dinner. 

‘‘A queen doesn't rule us, say, papa " insisted 
the irrepressible boy. 

No, Hollister, no ; we were simply likening this 
beautiful city to a queen." 

** Why not a king, papa ? " 

Just then Mrs. Olway suggested another treat 
for the children, a journey to the land of Nod. 
With a half-sleepy smile, and a bravely repressed 
yawn, Dora and Hollister accepted the invitation 
and went to their rooms, accompanied by their 
mother. It needed but a few moments after the 
preliminary preparations were duly completed, ere 
both were at their journey’s end. 

As she was descending the broad stairs, having 
left the children sweetly sleeping, Mrs. Olway was 
met by her hostess, who suggested a quiet chat in 
her boudoir. They turned their steps to this, and 
when comfortably seated, Mrs. Morange remarked : 

‘‘ The gentlemen can entertain themselves. 
What beautiful children you have," she continued. 

Dora is a perfect picture of yourself, almost ; yet, 
no, not in color of eyes ; what I mean is that she is 
just as bewitchingly pretty as you were at her age. 
I believe you were the only one who ever was pretty 
at that awkward age, Lena ! " 

** Now, Fredonia, don’t flatter me. You probably 
know how I love Dora. Richard has told you of 
my weakness." 

'‘Oh, no! But Richard — really, I told him jok- 
ingly to-day that I was getting jealous of Dora. 


266 


EUNICE. 


He shows me her letters you know, sometimes, and 
they are really remarkable for a child.” 

‘‘Yes; Dora adores her Uncle Richard, and you 
cannot blame her. Besides Richard deserves 
devotion.” 

“ He has it too, Lena, right here in Washington. 
But he does not seem to relish it much.” 

“ Truly .^” asked Lena, with aroused interest. 

“Yes; and it seems strange to me too — he has 
such a chivalrous nature. You know how he wor- 
shiped mother. Yet it appears that he cares for no 
woman to the exclusion of others.” 

“Oh, Fredonia!” Lena said, with a sigh; and 
something else trembled on her lips. Ought she 
to breathe it ? 

“ Lena, I have wondered of late ; could you tell 
me, whether Richard ever cared for any one or not ? 
Would you know ? ” 

“ I think he did care for some one once. I 
thought so ; but am not certain now. If he did, he 
is a perfect hero ! ” 

“Eunice.'^” whispered Fredonia. 

“ Yes.” 

Then both were silent ; Lena wondering if it was 
true, and feeling confirmed by what Fredonia had 
said; and Fredonia almost assured that her sus- 
picions were correct. 

“ Pardon one more question,” said Fredonia, in a 
low voice. “ Did she refuse him ? ” 

“Oh, P'redonia, no ; she did not know that he 
cared for her. It would have about ruined her 
happiness, had she known.” 

“Soon Fredonia said, sadly: “Strange! Poor 


THE FLIGHT SOUTH. 


267 


Richard ! '' After a moment her face brightened. 
‘‘ Now he can always live with us. Oh, Lena ! 
Y ou don’t know what a relief it is, with all its pain. 
Perhaps I am selfish ; but life is so different with 
him here.” 

Lena did not know what to say. She almost 
criticised Fredonia, and yet she could not blame 
her ; but she did not know how much personal dis- 
satisfaction lay behind, and made spontaneous that 
outburst. Fredonia seemed to have all that heart 
could wish ; and the thought of questioning her 
friend’s domestic happiness did not enter Lena’s 
mind. After a time she whispered : 

I can appreciate your feeling, but I believe 
now, with Garton, that it has sobered his life. Not 
that he is less cheery and bright ; but, as Garton 
puts it, ‘ he has shuffled off the coil of indolent cul- 
ture, and is all alive.’ Garton was always talking 
about Richard’s ^ atmosphere of Greek leisure.’ You 
know what a man Garton is for phrases — the edi- 
tor, I suppose.” 

‘‘That is just it!” declared Fredonia, with sud- 
den conviction. “It just expresses the difference.” 

They had talked for some time, when Fredonia 
remembered the others, and they descended to the 
drawing room. 

Mr. and Mrs. Morange were as good as their 
word. Indeed, they not only made all the glories 
of Washington pay homage to their friends, but 
they also proposed a reception in their honor, in 
spite of mild remonstrance on the part of the enter- 
tained. 

But the plan was not destined to be carried out, 


268 


EUNICE. 


for an important letter came to prevent it. And in 
a few days their guests had returned to their home. 

It seems lonesome now that they are all gone, 
doesn’t it, Richard.?” said Fredonia, the first eve- 
ning after their departure, as they sat in their 
pleasant library. But I do not mind it with you 
here,” she added, quickly. I hope you do not.” 

“ Why, sister mine, of course I do not,” he said, 
looking up, when I am with my Fredonia. It was 
you who said it was lonesome ; I simply assented.” 

You are the best brother that ever lived ! ” she 
declared, with more emotion than he remembered 
ever to have noted before in her pale, beautiful 
face. 

‘‘ What is it, dear .? ” he asked, immediately rising. 

Have you any secret trouble .? ” 

‘‘ Have I been so selfish and pre-occupied as not 
to know that Fredonia was unhappy .? ” he thought, 
with a twinge of conscience. 

‘‘ No, Richard ; only I feared that you might be 
disappointed at not going with Garton, and seeing 
your old friends again.” This was just what she 
had not meant to say. How did it happen that she, 
usually so tactful, should plunge into the heart of 
the matter thus ? 

Richard’s face paled slightly, but he smiled with 
perfect calmness, and said : 

Oh, no. I am accustomed to have things up- 
set — plans that I have made. I have learned the 
blessed lesson that God plans more wisely for me.” 
He looked very grave just now, but he took both of 
her delicate hands in his, almost as slender and 


THE FLIGHT SOUTH. 269 

shapely as her own, saying : That was really all ? 

You were thinking of me, as usual ? ” 

I was thinking only of you, and wishing I could 
be of some use,” she answered, somewhat reassured ; 
‘‘but not as usual.” 

“ Fredonia!” he said, as if he had just made up 
his mind to something. “ I am in a little perplexity 
just now ; and I want to confide in you, and ask 
your advice. I may not take it, you know, dear ; 
and that is what made me hesitate ; but you will 
not mind if I am a little headstrong ? ” 

The last phrase made her somewhat apprehensive, 
but she was delighted that he was going to unbur- 
den himself. 

“ Last week,” he said, “ I received a letter from 
Mademoiselle Lasee.” 

Fredonia started. Her fears arose and danced 
before her in a group of mocking faces. 

“ You are surprised ! You are not more surprised 
than was I. Of course this is a secret — none else 
must ever know,” he added, gravely. “ She makes 
a strange request that I will meet her at a certain 
place, no matter where. She even implores me to 
come, saying that she is very anxious, indeed must see 
me, somehow. Her letter is effusive with a sort of 
gratitude ; but it is the French style. We must 
not judge her by American standards. What I 
want most to say is this : I now condemn myself 
for being with her so much as I was ” 

“ But it was not your fault, Richard,” Fredonia 
interposed. “ You could not help it. Circumstances 
threw you together.” 

“ Never mind, sister. I suppose that is true, and 


270 


EUNICE. 


yet I sometimes fear that she was learning to care 
for me. I tried to prevent this happening ; but it 
now seems as if it must have been a mistake be- 
cause misunderstood.” 

^‘Well, Richard,” Fredonia said, as if to fore- 
stall any further criticism of himself, I was a 
little uneasy when I saw you together sometimes, 
because I was not sure that you read her true char- 
acter.” 

‘‘Still,” Richard continued, speaking absently, “I 
feel called to the task, and whatever it involves, I 
must not shrink now. I see it now, dear. It is all 
clear to me I must go.’ 

“You must go.^^” she exclaimed, not understand- 
ing his meaning. “You must go to meet her 
You do not mean it ? Oh, Richard, be reasonable ! ” 

“ I warned you I probably should not take your 
advice, you know,” he reminded her. “ I was try- 
ing to find out my duty. Have no fear, sister ; I 
see now that I should not have told you, and I did 
not intend to, until you seemed to crave the confi- 
dence. Forget about it, dear, if it troubles you ! ” 

He was immovable now that his duty was clear, 
and Fredonia know that remonstrance was useless. 
This was a strange man, Fredonia thought : as ten- 
der as a woman, yet unyielding as iron in a matter 
of honor ; so quick to discern the false in Mademoi- 
selle Lasee, yet ready to expose himself to risk for 
the sake of granting her unusual request ; most ap- 
preciative of nobility in thought or character, yet 
tolerant of the most degraded or frivolous. 

“But he was not always so,” she meditated. 
“ There is some great mystery about him, what- 


THE FEIGHT SOUTH. 


271 


ever it is. He seems to live entirely above so- 
ciety, but never consciously ignores its most trivial 
requirements — unless it is something he considers 
wrong. Yet there is very little of the soaring 
idealist in Richard ; he never poses as the impene- 
trable statesman or the pious reformer. As Mrs. 
Blount said, ' He is a typical Christian.’ I believe 
I have never been reminded so much of what Christ 
must have been — especially since she spoke of it. 
Oh, I fear I have not thought much about Christ 
myself, except as an unattainable model ; but Rich- 
ard speaks as if the very person of Christ was 
before his eyes, now — always in his presence.” 

Fredonia had looked at the Christ as a beautiful 
picture, viewing him, as it were, with aesthetic ado- 
ration, as a treasure of art, more precious than all 
else in the world, but still simply as an external in- 
fluence. 

Richard is showing me,” she said to herself, 
and sometime I shall let him tell me more about 
it. He will not speak, I know, until I show him 
that I wish it.” 

During this monologue Fredonia had forgotten 
some little things, which at the time of their occur- 
rence she had considered faults in Richard, but 
now she said : 

‘‘ And yet he is not flawless. Think of acceding 
to such a request ! It is a regular fool’s errand. 
And then some accident may happen to him. Oh, 
dear ! I wish he would not go. It really is not 
necessary. I shall try to dissuade him — if I 
can.” 

But she could not persuade him to remain. As 


2J2 


KUNICK. 


he left the house the next day, he told her not to 
expect him home that night. 

‘‘Fredonia dear, do not worry. Show more con- 
fidence in your brother than that. I know what I 
am doing, and I have no fear. Surely you can trust 
a brother of yours to do right.'’ 

He had made her smile at last, but she said : If 
you only did not always forget yourself when you 
are with another." 

‘‘Thank you, Fredonia; that is the dearest com- 
pliment I ever had ! " He kissed her cheek, and 
was gone. 


i 


CHAPTER XX. 


A KNIGHT MUST KEEP HIS VOW. 

Be thou the king and we will work thy will who love thee. 

— Tennyson, 

I T was not an easy task that Richard had set be- 
fore him. But as he now viewed the matter, 
the letter might be the clue to a problem on which 
his thoughts had often been at work ever since he 
had heard the parting words of Mademoiselle Lasde. 

His mind had been divided against itself, for his 
leisure moments had been taken up with an inward 
colloquy. One voice had persisted in saying : 

It is a very fine theory, but practically it is a 
failure, worse than a failure, for it has led to some- 
thing worse.” 

But then the other voice would answer : 

Can evil come out of good } I did as the good 
prompted me.” 

Ah ! did you mistake the prompting } ” the 
former voice would retort. The motive was right, 
but were you not carried away from your original 
intention 

Then the rejoinder would follow 
‘‘ Settle it therefore in your hearts not to medi- 
tate before what ye shall answer.” 

As he went to the place of appointment, Richard 
felt that whatever he was to meet was only what he 
s 273 


274 


EUNICE. 


had unwittingly, but none the less certainly brought 
upon himself. 

It cost him quite an effort to go. Aside from 
the inward hesitation, business was pressing just 
then. His mind was interested in a deep State 
problem, and he had been oblige'd to sit up nearly 
all night in consequence of his proposed brief 
absence. 

“ After all, is it worth while ? ” he asked himself, 
as he settled in his chair in the car that afternoon, 
and pretended to read a newspaper. He could not, 
however, and' was soon busy thinking what might 
be before him, when a hand tapped him on the 
shoulder, and he looked up to see one of his fellow- 
senators, who was smiling upon him and saying : 

Well, well, Winthrop, this is an unexpected 
pleasure. I thought you were at work on more im- 
portant topics than newspaper headings ; or is this 
a committee exploration ? 

As he spoke, he dropped contentedly into the 
chair at his friend’s side. He noticed that friend’s 
apparent embarrassment — something unusual in 
the latter, as he was noted for his unruffled com- 
posure — as he answered that he was going to meet an 
appointment, adding : 

was just looking for our column, as you 
touched my shoulder. I had a pardonable curios- 
ity to know in what places the editor had expressed 
the thought more clearly than the original. They 
twisted my only simile horribly the last time ; did 
you notice ? It was all the more painful, because 
I had tried so hard to leave the figure out, but it 
had to go in at last, as it held the key to the argu- 


A KNIGHT MUST KKKP HIS VOW. 275 

ment in a nutshell. Oh ! I see they have corrected 
the mistake to-day.” 

Then they discussed some of the questions at 
issue in friendly undertones, relapsing into occa- 
sional intervals of silence, as they scanned their 
respective dailies. 

They had been traveling for a while when the 
other said : 

‘‘ Going to Baltimore, I suppose ? I shall be glad 
of a companion.” 

No ! ” was Winthrop’s reply ; a smaller place 
near there.” 

The other looked somewhat surprised and dis- 
appointed, but made no further inquiries. His 
thought, however, was : 

‘‘ What under the sun has Winthrop got hold of 
up here that concerns — well, I declare ! My wife 
has not all the curiosity of the family. But Win- 
throp seems excited, and evidently does not intend to 
be communicative. Of course, it may be private ; 
but Winthrop never seemed to have any private 
affairs.” 

After his friend left him at Baltimore, Richard 
Winthrop acknowledged to himself that he had 
never felt more nervous. He despised himself be- 
cause he could not control his inward agitation. 

Is it guilt or is it fear ? ” he asked himself. If 
my conscience were accusing me, I could not feel 
worse. Begone, quavering self ! I will none of 
you. Christ is my guide and helper.” 

It was quite dark before the train stopped at the 
designated station. He left it with a steadied nerve, 
and looked around. In a moment a softly gloved 


2^6 


EUNICK. 


hand grasped his arm, and a voice said, exult- 
antly : 

Oh, monsieur ! I am so happy. It is so good 
of you.” Mademoiselle Lasee was in traveling cos- 
tume and closely veiled ; but he could see or rather 
feel the sparkle of her eyes through the thick gauze. 
A gentleman stood by her side. Richard Winthrop 
had not noticed him at first, because of the excite- 
ment and the crowd. Mademoiselle Lasee intro- 
duced him as Monsieur Bradley,” adding some- 
thing to him in an undertone. Then she took 
Richard Winthrop’s proffered arm, and looking up 
at him, said : 

‘‘You will come with us to the hotel .^” 

Richard Winthrop bowed gravely, but said noth- 
ing. The place proved to be but small, notwith- 
standing the crowd at the station. When they 
reached a comparatively deserted sidewalk. Made- 
moiselle Lasee said in a low voice : 

“ Monsieur Winthrop, I even prayed to your God 
that you would come ; and you see he has answered 
me but I did not believe he would.” 

Richard Winthrop had not expected this sort of 
a greeting, and returned gently : 

“ I am totally in the dark as to the reason for my 
coming ; but if I can be of service, I shall be very 
glad.” 

She laughed. 

“It is just like you to say that. You did not 
like coming on uncertainties ; I knew you would 
not, and that was why I feared you might not 
come.” 

The other gentleman still kept silent, though he 


A KNIGHT MUST KEEP HIS VOW. ^77 

walked with them, on the other side of Mademoi- 
selle Lasee. He was about Richard Winthrop’s 
height, wore a heavy mustache, and had an English 
face. Even in his gait he showed some of the 
sturdy English traits ; but one could see that he 
was deeply interested in Mademoiselle Lasee. 

Richard Winthrop observed this with pleasure, 
for he liked the man’s face. Mademoiselle Lasee 
evidently had the Englishman at her command, but 
it was difficult to decide whether or not she quite 
enjoyed his devotion. He, however, did not appear 
to be jealous ; perhaps he was too much blinded by 
love’s assurance. 

Presently they reached a comfortable, but unpre- 
tentious hotel, and the Englishman led the way to 
the public parlor. There were several other occu- 
pants of the room, but one end was free. Mademoi- 
selle Lasee motioned Richard Winthrop to a sofa, 
while she took her English friend aside and whis- 
pered to him a moment, after which he bowed and 
withdrew. Thereupon she seated herself beside 
Mr. Winthrop on the sofa, and lifted her veil. Her 
face was flushed and her eyes unusually bright. 
She began in hurried accents, speaking entirely in 
French : 

^‘You look amazed, monsieur! But I can man- 
age the other gentleman perfectly, you see, and it 
is right that it should be so, is it not, for we are 
engaged.” 

Richard Winthrop nodded assent, brightening 
perceptibly. 

Ah I you are glad, I see, monsieur. I cannot 
help being sorry that you are glad ; but I knew how 


278 


EUNICE). 


it would be/' Then she changed expression. ** You 
have feared me ever since those last words of mine ! ” 
she added, without blushing; ‘‘I regretted them 
afterward. 

But I am obliged to marry," she spoke, with a 
sort of impatience. I have so many engagements ! 
You are shocked, but it is so. The only way to be 
free is to marry — for a woman, I mean. Now, mon- 
sier, I am in trouble." She said this with the air 
of a spoiled child, who has been crossed. And 
you can help me. I can tell you, for you know me 
very well. This man," with a slight gesture to- 
ward the door, loves me most of all ; he would 
give his life for me. He left his business in Eng- 
land to come here seeking me. I have been en- 
gaged to him since very young, but I have deceived 
him and slighted him all these years." 

She went on more hurriedly. ‘‘For one thing, 
he is not wealthy, and my uncle wanted a wealthy 
husband for me ; but I did not care to marry then 
anyway. I thought I never should care for any 
one till I saw you." She did not hesitate, but spoke 
frankly. “ I almost worshiped you ; and since 
then I have tried to worship your God, when trouble 
came. While we were stopping at Niagara Falls I 
met him," making a motion toward the door again ; 
“ and when he told me how he had sought for me, 
and wanted to protect me he seemed like you ; and 
I loved him." Her face lighted up a little. “Yes ! 
I love him, because in some way he makes me 
think of you. I do not know how or why — but he 
does." Suddenly she drew nearer and whispered : 

“ We are more than engaged — we are married ! " 


A KNIGHT MUST KKKP HIS VOW. 279 

Richard Winthrop ejaculated : Good ! '' 

Ah, you are glad ! she said, rather sadly. ‘‘We 
want your blessing, for — my uncle has disinherited 
me.” Her lips trembled. 

“He has.^” Sympathy was in every line of 
Richard Winthrop’s features. 

“Yes; I did not believe he would, and I was 
married secretly, thinking that when it was done, 
he would not object.” 

“ Have you no fortune ? ” 

“ A small one,” she answered ; “ but I expected 
to be rich.” 

“ Does your husband care ? ” Richard Winthrop 
inquired, thinking to get at the worst at once. 

• “No,” she said, with a quiet smile; “he only 
» wanted me. But I care so much Is it wrong to 
care ? ” 

Could this child-like questioner be the same 
Mademoiselle Lasee whom he had met in Washing- 
ton ? Richard Winthrop suppressed an irrelevant 
smile, as he replied : 

“To love money for its own sake is ignoble and 
wrong, but to prize it as a means of doing good, is 
wise.” 

She was thoughtful a moment, and then burst 
into a coquettish laugh. “There! I knew you 
would say that ; but I want it to get beautiful pos- 
sessions. I could not live without beautiful things.” 

“ The most beautiful things are not the outward 
ones, you know,” he added, gently. “The King’s 
daughter is all beautiful within. This is the price- 
less pearl of beauty ; but outward beauty is not to be 
utterly despised. It too, like money, is to be prized 


28 o 


MUNICH. 


for the good it may accomplish; for the inward 
beauty it may inspire/' He had grown earnest and 
fatherly in his manner. 

Soon she said, rapidly : 

Could you — would you try to change my uncle’s 
mind ? I could endure it all except being poor. I 
must have plenty of money.” 

My child,” the manner of address came spon- 
taneously, I will try ; but how I wish that you 
would use it nobly, to help others, instead of turn- 
ing it to merely personal uses,” 

I will promise to use most of it for benevolences 
as you wish it — I could do it to please you.” After 
a moment’s reflection she added : ‘‘ It would please 
him too.” 

Do not do it simply to please us,” Richard 
Winthrop pleaded eagerly. Do it to please Him 
whom we worship — the lover of us all, who left 
even heaven to seek us, because he loved us so.” 

His face was a benediction as he spoke, and 
Mademoiselle Lasee noticed the allusion. She 
seemed greatly impressed. After a while she 
said : 

‘‘ My uncle does not know where I am ; but he is 
going to Washington before he returns to Paris. 
You could see him there ? He would listen to you. 
Oh, I am so glad you came,” she continued, 
brightly ; ‘‘ I could not leave America without see- 
ing you once more. Even if you do not placate my 
uncle, I can bear it better now. You will not for- 
get me ? ” Something in the face of her hearer made 
her add : ‘‘ Oh ! he is not jealous ! I have told him 
all about you, and he feels very much indebted to 


A KNIGHT MUST KEEP HIS VOW. 


281 


you for what you have done and are going to do 
for me.’’ 

Mademoiselle Lasee, or rather Madame Bradley, 
was about to say something more, when the door 
opened, and the Englishman walked in. He gave 
a quick anxious glance from one to the other, then 
came up and stood near his wife. She looked up at 
him with a smile, and the last bit of jealousy died 
out of his eyes. 

May I stay now he asked in French. 

“ Ouz, duiy mozisiezir!' 

Richard Winthrop arose, and offered his hand 
cordially. 

“You have my best wishes.” 

The Englishman’s face brightened as he replied : 

“That means a great deal to me. Accept my 
thanks and highest esteem.” 

There was an invisible tie of sympathy between 
these men, and at that instant both perceived it. 
It seemed to both that, in some mysterious way, 
Richard Winthrop had helped the other man when 
they were strangers, and even though an ocean had 
surged between them. 

There was a promise of latent friendship in the 
Englishman’s grasp, which seemed to be waiting for 
an opportunity to express itself in some future deed. 
But the simple perception of this kind of gratitude 
often brings help, which could never be vouchsafed 
in any other way. 

Richard Winthrop went back to Washington, re- 
joicing that he had come. His so-called theory 
had proved correct. 

“ It is possible and profitable not only to give to 


282 


EUNICE. 


Others in special ways which men call benevolence ; 
but is even more profitable to give daily, in the con- 
stant social intercourse such as one has, and the 
best one has, whether it be words, or deeds, or sym- 
pathy — and this after all, has the most potent influ- 
ence. What we call little, is only so in name. And 
this is true giving.'' 

He felt that a new bond united him to all he 
held most dear ; and he was now ready to go forth 
to a more severe test — to a sacrifice, if need be ; 
indeed, he felt that he could glory in the sacrifice, 
for the sake of Him who once for all had glorified 
the cross. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A baby’s part. 

With what a look of proud command, 

Thou shakest in thy little hand 
The coral rattle with its silver bells, 

Making a merry tune. 

— Longfellow, 

There is none, 

In all this cold and hollow world no fount 
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within 
A mother’s heart ! 

— Hemans, 

D uring the scene that transpired at Baltimore, 
Mr. and Mrs. Garton Olway were with the 
Radcliffes in New York. It was so near the 
beginning of March that Mrs. Olway was about 
ready to return home, and Garton decided to wait 
until they could all go together. Meanwhile the 
Radcliffes gave their friends as much time as they 
consistently could. 

“ I do not wonder that you are so absorbed,” 
Garton said one night to Ernest, as the two turned 
toward home, after a meeting. ‘‘ It must give great 
satisfaction to be able to hold the attention of so 
many different classes of individuals, and to sway 
them as you do. It is like a magician ruling his 
little world.” 

Before he had scarcely paused, Ernest replied 
with a sigh as of a spent warrior : 


283 


284 


EUNICE. 


Oh, but the responsibility ! Carton, do you 
know, all those souls weigh me down like so much 
lead, aye worse, for they seem suspended from my 
very heart. Then too, there is the danger of mis- 
using my power ; ” he went on as if rehearsing an 
argument made lon^ ago ; turning the positive 
good into positive evil.’’ 

Never fear. Ernest, I never saw such whole- 
souled humility.” 

Ernest Radcliffe, indeed, was overworked, and at 
such times as these, when the immediate strain was 
removed, he would sink into the depths of dis- 
couragement ; but this was only momentary, for 
soon his marvelous elasticity and optimistic faith 
helped him to rebound again into the courageous, 
magnetic conqueror. 

Eunice Radcliffe did not attend the services 
every evening now, as it had proved too taxing for 
her strength ; but she always sang when there. 
And when Carton heard her and looked into the 
faces of the mixed multitude at her feet, he 
thought : 

She has more glory here than she would have 
had as the greatest prima donna of the world.” 
He could not keep back the tears any more easily 
than his mother, who sat by his side. As the 
music ceased, he whispered to her : 

Eunice has a wonderful gift.” 

‘‘Yes, Carton; and it is all consecrated to the 
Highest.” 

The words came to him like a gentle reproach. 
Had he disappointed the mother whom he adored } 
Was it a sorrow to her because he had not reached 


A baby’s PAB,T. 


285 


the height that Eunice had attained ? He never 
forgot those words nor his mother’s look, and ever 
after they sounded as an undertone whenever he 
heard Eunice sing. 

The children were charmed with New York City, 
and Dora declared that she w6uld like always to live 
with Aunt Eunice, and have poor folks come to her 
for something to eat. She also enjoyed talking 
with Celia Parkes about the time when as a little 
child she had found her, and Celia never tired of 
the tale. Indeed, the latter loved Dora as if she 
had been a child of her own, and always thought 
and spoke of her as the little dear.” 

One evening they were all seated about the 
cheery fireplace in the cosy sitting room. The 
carpet and furniture were plain and neat ; the walls 
were high and airy ; but there was the same inde- 
finable something here that had rendered the 

mother’s room ” so attractive. Eunice Radcliffe 
had succeeded in putting her own personality into 
the place, and now with her mother there and the 
children. Carton received the impression that he 
was in that other room at his own home. 

Why, how is this, Eunice he asked, breaking 
into a pause in the conversation. ‘‘You have 
mother’s room down here. Mother, did you bring 
it down in your pocket ? Are you sure, Lena, it 
was at home when we left ? Someway I had 
missed it ever since you came away, mother, and 
now I know the secret of it. You left some of the 
trappings to deceive us ; but you absconded with 
the real article.” 

“What does ‘abscond' mean.^*” queried Hollis- 


286 


EUNICE. 


ter, racking his brain for a recollection of such a 
word. 

It means to run away on the sly.’’ 

Grandma run away on the sly ! ” he exclaimed, 
with a puzzled look, as he tried to solve the mystery. 

‘‘You ask her,” returned his father, as they all 
laughed. 

“You are joking, papa, for grandma would never 
do anything on the sly ; would you, grandma ; 
because it’s wrong ? ” 

“ No, dear ; except to tweak your ear, or some- 
thing like that,” she answered, accompanying the 
words with an illustration. 

Dora was sitting between Aunt Eunice and Celia, 
and did not catch the drift of these remarks. She 
was chiefly engaged in telling Celia about “ Uncle 
Richard,” and “Washington,” interspersing the 
account with occasional questions directed to 
Eunice, such as : 

“ Aren’t you sorry Uncle Richard did not come 
with us ? A horrid something kept him, but I 
guess mamma thinks he really did not want to come, 
anyway ; but I don’t believe that, do you } When 
I asked mamma why, she said he probably would 
prefer coming alone anyway ; but surely he would 
like to be here when I’m here, and for one I’m 
very sorry.” 

Though Dora loved her Uncle Ernest, and was 
pleased when he took her on his knee, yet there 
was always a little fear mingled with her admiration. 
There was only one real knight to Dora — Uncle 
Richard ; and Ernest, moreover, was usually pre- 
occupied, except when he gave himself up to family 


A BABY’S PART. 287 

life, which his work seldom allowed him to do, for 
more than a half-hour at a time. 

But this was an exceptional occasion ; and he 
came home early, leaving the meeting in charge of 
his staff, assisted by an extra speaker. It was the 
last night the family would be together, and Eunice 
had requested his presence. He came in just as 
Dora was giving her opinions, and he drew up a 
chair between the child and Eunice. Resting one 
arm on the back of his wife’s chair, he said : 

What is this, Dora, that troubles you so ? ” 

''That Richard was prevented from coming,” 
Eunice answered, before the child had time to 
reply. 

" I’m sorry he isn’t here ! ” returned Ernest, 
warmly ; "it breaks the circle.” 

Lena was in terror lest the child should repeat 
what she herself had said when not aware that Dora 
was near ; and immediately spoke to Ernest. 

" Richard is coming on later, and then you must 
all plan to come up to us and have a grand reunion ; 
musn’t they, Garton } ” 

This started Garton on a theme of persuasion, 
and the catastrophe was averted. Mrs. Olway had 
been petting her grandson, but as soon as his Uncle 
Ernest appeared, Hollister left her unceremoniously 
to perch upon his knee. 

If Dora "worshiped” Richard Winthrop, Hol- 
lister " adored ” Ernest Radcliffe, according to the 
statement of the former. Hollister once told his 
grandmother that when he grew up he wanted to be 
like " papa and Uncle Ernest mixed.” 

Sometimes Dora and Hollister discussed the 


288 


EUNICE. 


merits of their respective heroes ; and their mother 
once said, laughingly, that she was tempted to take 
down a list of the good qualities of each, and 
inclose the same to Eunice ; but she refrained. 

Soon the men were talking over the political 
situation, and all that had been accomplished since 
Richard Winthrop had been senator. 

‘‘ Winthrop will go back for another term, will he 
not } ” asked Ernest. 

Oh, I hope so ; but he would never stoop, you 
know, to gain votes, and the enemy is alert. It was 
a marvel that he was sent at all ; but the best ele- 
ment sometimes rules.'’ 

And so the evening wore away, all too rapidly 
for this congenial group ; and it came time for the 
evening hymn and prayer and good-night words. 
Dora and Hollister had been allowed to sit up that 
night, so the picture was unbroken to the last. 

How happy would be that family circle, where 
all the dear ones might remain until all could go to 
rest together ; yea, even the little ones ! But out 
of the arms of the young mother the little child 
which she had pressed to her bosom had gone early 
to its sleep. And so, amid all the joy, Eunice 
Radcliffe bowed with an aching heart. 

It is two years since we were all at the Rad- 
cliffes’, isn’t it ? ” asked Garton, one April day. 

‘‘Yes; two years in March,” Lena answered. 
“Why.?” 

“Well ! I think it is about time we encored that 
reunion up here. What do you think .?” 

“ If you could persuade them to leave,” returned 


A baby’s part. 


289 


Lena. ‘‘ Then besides, I want Richard Winthrop 
with us next time ; that is, if he would care to 
come.” 

** We will see about that ! ” said Garton, confi- 
dently. ‘‘ We would also want Vina and James and 
the baby. Whew ! what a gathering.” 

‘‘ You are very fond of gatherings, Garton ! I be- 
lieve I like them separate better, though — especially 
under certain circumstances.” 

‘‘ Well ! I say, let us all hang together, or else 
hang separately,” Garton remarked, in his falsetto 
voice, as he arose to go down to the city. ‘‘ I should 
be willing to see even one of our old friends to din- 
ner — Vina, for instance.” 

The latter evidently did not hear this humane 
wish ; at least, she had no anticipation of dining 
with Mr. and Mrs. Olway that day. It did not 
matter much where she dined. Baby Euna was not 
concerned about it, and a thing which was of no 
account to this small personage had very little in- 
fluence over the course of events at the Blake 
homestead. 

There are powers behind thrones, and there are 
also thrones behind powers ; but here was a spot in 
which the power and the throne occupied the same 
seat. Baby Euna was very nearly a year old ; but 
a year of a queen’s lifetime is a great deal. Men 
have been known to fight long and bloody battles 
for a year’s sovereignty, even when it was a very 
unstable sovereignty at that. To be sure there was 
the Lady Vina, maid of the queen’s bed-chamber ; 
Lady Harriet, maid of honor; and Sir James, lord 
courtier ; but there could be only one prime minister 
T 


290 


EUNICE. 


— the sage and cautious John. Nothing, however, 
could equal the devotion and affinity between this 
humble servant and her majesty. Indeed, it hath 
not been equaled in any monarchy, or in any age. 
Yet, though these two often sat apart alone, the 
others must needs be in attendance. Therefore, 
Vina had no expectation of tasting the Olway turkey 
that day. 

But she seemed happily resigned to her fate, as 
she sat in a low chair darning and thinking of all 
that had come into her life. She had not long to 
think alone, however, for soon the kitchen door 
swung open, and Harriet Blake entered with her 
usual happy smile. 

Baby asleep ? she inquired, lowering her voice 
on the last syllable. 

‘‘ Yes ; and father will keep holding her. I told 
him it was risky as it was catching ; but he was not 
frightened a bit.’' 

Harriet Blake smiled. Vina had learned that her 
new mother had a weakness for ‘‘ liking things said 
in a funny way,” and she determined to be equal to 
the demand. In fact the new daughter had quite 
won her right of way to her mother’s heart ; and 
largely, it must be confessed, by scattering the salt 
of humor on the weeds of prejudice. James was 
happy over the result, although he had not the 
faintest conception as to what agency had brought 
it about. 

There is nothing John likes better than to cradle 
that child,” answered the older woman, as she sank 
in a chair to rest before changing her dress. 

It was a pleasant, cheery room where they were 


A baby’s part. 


291 


sitting. The large windows allowed the sunlight to 
stream through in floods, and wander into every 
corner. Easy-chairs and bright hangings added to 
the home-like aspect of the room. In the corner 
stood the cradle, now vacant, in which the father of 
the present owner had dreamed or slept away a 
large part of his early life. For a few moments 
both women were silent, each busy with her own 
thoughts which were certainly pleasant, for the two 
faces were softened with a faint, happy smile. 

They have both set out to sea together,” re- 
marked Harriet Blake, looking up cheerily. ‘‘ I 
begin to hear the roar of the breakers.” She had 
even come to the point of admitting some of John’s 
weaknesses to her daughter, who looked upon them 
so charitably and merrily. 

They both laughed outright. 

^‘It is such a comfort to John,” continued his 
wife, her eyes softening as she bent over her work. 
‘‘He has not worried any hardly since baby came.” 

This gentle sovereign had indeed wrought revo- 
lutions in the family. From the moment of Euna’s 
accession, Harriet Blake had ceased to criticise 
her daughter even in her heart, for she always re- 
strained its outward expression. Vina, the mother, 
felt like an “ancient matron,” but James, on the 
contrary, seemed to grow younger every day since ; 
and John almost literally gave up business ; at least 
he worried no more about “ the hired man’s pay,” 
or his probable uselessness on the farm. Harriet 
Blake had not had to unruffle his brow now for a 
long time. 

“ I shall almost lose the art for want of practice,” 


293 


EUNICE. 


she had said to herself once ; but good riddance 
to one lost art ! Yet I do miss it ; but John is better 
off now/' 

Oh, mother ! ” Vina began, dropping a sock in 
the excitement of the moment. '‘What do you 
think ? I have been wondering if it would not be 
nice to let the children give an entertainment in 
the church before long. They are getting restless 
to do something, and we could charge a little at the 
door, and use the money for the library books and 
maps which we need so much." 

Vina Blake’s wonderful aptitude for amusing 
children had won her a unanimous election as as- 
sistant superintendent of the Sunday-school, and 
the infant department was given into her hands. 
With the increased population, the Sunday-school 
formed no small part of the church ; and although 
Vina insisted on being freed from any duty in the 
larger school, she gladly accepted the honor, for it 
was a pleasure to her. James Blake was already 
superintendent, and they two worked well together 
in this as in all other duties. 

" It would be very nice, I am sure," her mother 
responded. Even yet she was a trifle annoyed at 
what seemed to her to be presumption in one so 
young. " Of course James would help you plan it 
and make a success. In fact, I am sure it would 
take well." 

" I will tell you what I had thought of, mother." 
But as she saw a certain expression cross the other’s 
face, Vina was almost sorry she had opened the sub- 
ject, but she bit her lips a little and went on. 
" Perhaps you may not care to hear, as we have 


A baby’s part. 


293 


not yet completed it ; but James approves of the 
plan.’' 

At this show of humility, Harriet Blake’s face 
became natural, and she said, with increased inter- 
est, and with a certain tenderness intended to atone 
for her momentary coolness. 

‘^Oh, yes ; tell me your plan.” 

Well,” returned Vina, pleasantly ; I have writ- 
ten a harmless little thing that will give almost all 
the children something to do or repeat. James says 
it is bright, and he thinks it will be just the thing; 
I made it somewhat instructive too.” 

Indeed ! When did you write it ? 

Oh, since baby came,” answered Vina, care- 
lessly. 

I should like to hear it.” 

** If you like then, I will read it to you all this 
evening. James wanted me to last night.” 

Before this, Vina had written several short stories 
for the children — some she had created ; others she 
had produced, by combining her old nursery tales. 
Already she was looked upon in Milston as quite 
an author. James Blake’s heart often swelled with 
pride, as a neighbor spoke of ‘^your smart wife.” 
Once when Mrs. Doty was calling, she said to 
Vina r 

‘‘ Say, Mrs. Blake, how do you make those stories 
of yours anyway — making them all join together 
so well ? ” Pete says, * You ask her next time you 
see her,’” she chuckled, blithely. He was just 
teasing me, but I don’t care ; I really want to 
know.” 

‘‘ Oh,” returned Vina, with a twinkle of mischief 


294 


EUNic:e. 


in her eye ; I just let it flow out and hang together 
as it will, till the thing is all spun, and then after- 
ward I slip in the whalebones.’' 

Well, I never ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Doty, when she 
recovered from her astonishment. 

After she had gotten home, and made her confes- 
sion, she told Peter that ‘‘Young Mrs. Blake could 
not be excelled in spinning out yarns, but I for one 
cannot understand such literary folks.” 

Presently the baby awoke, and they heard John 
trying to pacify her. 

“ Bye, bye,” he sang, in his husky voice. 

It made the two women smile again. 

Vina put aside her mending and tripped into “ the 
baby’s room,” but great, shaggy John did not intend 
to give up his prize immediately. Vina gave her 
baby a hug, and Euna began to cry a little ; but the 
child was very good-natured, and was quite willing 
to stay where she could run her fingers through 
the beard under grandpa’s chin, and be rocked at the 
same time. The mother wanted to hold out her 
hands for the cbild, but she knew what a disap- 
pointment it would be to “grandpa,” and she was 
learning to think of others first. 

When Vina came back without the child, Harriet 
Blake’s heart softened more than ever. 

“If I did have to give up James at last, I had 
him a long time. It is hard to have to share one’s 
baby so much,” she thought, but Vina still looked 
content. Harriet Blake felt a sense of shame. 

Just then a one-seated gig rolled up and Vina 
hurried to the door and out to the barn to see her 
husband. 



Eunice. 


Page 294, 


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A baby’s part. 


295 


‘^Her compensation!” thought Harriet, as the 
light figure darted down the doorsteps. Then she 
went to the nursery. 

‘‘ I declare, John Blake, you are a regular old 
' spooney ’ ! ” she exclaimed, as she set about her old 
task of soothing down his ‘‘ upstart ” locks. 

I suppose you are right,” he responded, looking 
up happily. 

“ I see I shall have to brighten up a little, when 
you are ‘renewing your youth* like this,” she 
added. 

He looked mystified. 

“ I guess I will change my dress right away, be- 
fore supper.’* She gave an energetic turn. “ By 
the way, John, it is baby’s birthday to-morrow. We 
ought to celebrate I ” 

“Sure!” John Blake responded, with new ani- 
mation. 

“If you woa’t tell, John, I will tell you a secret.” 
The promise was readily given. 

She whispered in his ear : “ The Milston folks 
are going to give them a surprise party to-morrow, 
in honor of the occasion I knew I never could 
get you to put on your best clothes unless I told 
you.” She laughed jocularly. 

He was about to reply when his wife put her 
finger upon his lips. James and Vina had opened 
the kitchen door and were coming in, arm in arm 
as usual, to see “the baby.” 

“There is a splendid letter from Mr. Radcliffe, 
mother,” said James, holding it out to her; “and 
Vina has one from Celia. They are doing more 
work than ever ! Really, mother, I do not see how 


296 


EUNICE. 


he stands it. He has a fine constitution, to be sure, 
but even that won’t endure everything. I am afraid 
he will break down some day.” 

Oh, James, it is only because you are a doctor, 
I do believe that is getting to be the first thing you 
think of when you look at a person,” interrupted 
Vina, looking up from her letter. How about 
baby’s constitution to-day, eh. Dr. Blake ? ” 

James smiled, and lifted baby to the ceiling. 

Baby is always perfect in every way, of course,” 
he replied. 

Whatever else may be said about it, Ernest Rad- 
cliff e’s mission was assuming gigantic proportions, 
and the work was daily growing ; but, although there 
were workers, there was not yet sufficient money. 
Numerous gifts from many quarters had been con- 
secrated to the cause, but still ^^more money” was 
the plea. 

When Garton Olway realized the need, he made 
a liberal donation, and urged a few friends to follow 
his example. Even Dora and Hollister had their 
own collection boxes, into which they could put as 
much as they chose of their weekly allowance of 
spending money. Lena encouraged the children to 
give liberally, although she did not yet feel it her 
duty to give anything in her own name. 

‘‘ Garton is generous enough for two,” she would 
say. 

James and Vina Blake also had caught the infec- 
tion, and often received fresh stimulus through 
Celia’s letters. So that Ernest Radcliffe came to 
feel that they had a force behind them at home, and 
the thought brought comfort and strength and glad- 


A baby’s part. 


297 


ness. Richard Winthrop had always helped them 
and now the others were awakening. There was a 
season of thanksgiving in the mission home, when 
the truth became apparent. 

** Our prayers are being answered on every hand,” 
said Eunice, gladly. It is beginning to be glori- 
ous ! ” 

In such moments of exaltation, Eunice believed 
that she could do anything or endure anything for 
the sake of Christ. 

‘‘ I gave all to thee,” she said one day, “and thou 
hast shown me that duty is a glorious privilege. 
There is no burden but has wings and bears me up 
— up closer to thyself ! So let me joy to bear the 
yoke with thee, whatever it may be, if it but draw 
me closer to thy breast.” 

Such was Eunice Radcliffe’s secret prayer, a few 
nights after “the Milston folks ” had given the sur- 
prise party in honor of her namesake, Euna. But 
she little dreamed through what an ordeal the an- 
swer would lead her. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


AN INTERVIEW. 


What do we live for if not to make life less difficult to each 
other. 


— George Eliot, 


R ichard WINTHROP returned to Washing- 
ton with a lighter heart ; and Fredonia was 
greatly relieved at meeting his genial face in the 
hall. 

I am so glad you have come/' 

The very words that another woman had used 
only yesterday. Fredonia looked expectant. 

It is all right,” he said. She is married to an 
English gentleman, who is an admirable character, 
but not wealthy. What she wanted of me was 
that I would try to influence her uncle to change 
his mind. He has disinherited her.” 

O — h! ” Fredonia murmured, astonished and 
delighted. ‘‘ Was that all } ” 

‘^That was all,” Richard answered, smiling and 
leading the way to the library. Although Fre- 
donia’s curiosity led her to question him farther, he 
put no romantic coloring upon the incident. 
Indeed, he refused to give it any coloring at all, 
but dismissed the subject, and rising, said he must 
devote himself to business. 

Those were full days that followed. There was 
298 


AN INTERVIEW. 


299 


plenty of work, and excitement as well ; for Richard 
felt very uncertain as to his office, until the vote 
had been declared, and he had entered upon the 
duties of his second term as senator. 

Thus it was nearly three weeks before his prom- 
ise occured to* him. But he immediately made 
inquiries as to Monsieur Lasee’s arrival, and dis- 
covered that he had been in the city several days. 

The Frenchman was delighted to see the senator 
again ; and not until there had been a good many 
questions on the part of the former, and replies 
from him, could Richard Winthrop broach the sub- 
ject. 

‘‘Your niece has already returned to France.?'* 
he asked, with rising inflection. 

“ No ! " was the laconic reply, as a shade of dis- 
pleasure crossed his face. 

“ Has she become enamored of our fair country, 
and decided to travel farther ? or perhaps she did 
not care to return to Washington to leave so soon 
again, as you say you must." Richard Winthrop 
wished to ascertain the feelings of the uncle before 
he made known his errand. 

Monsieur Lasee glanced keenly at his questioner, 
and replied : 

“ Are you as interested as that. Monsieur Win- 
throp ? My niece is a little goose ! She has done 
the unpardonable, and I have nothing more to do 
with her." There was a tone in his utterance 
that boded ill for Mr. Winthrop’s proposal. 

“ Have you parted from your niece in whom you 
took such pride only a few months ago .? " 

“This is kind of you, Monsieur Winthrop. I 


300 


KUNICK. 


see she has beset you to endeavor to reinstate her 
in my good graces ; she is shrewd — she knew you 
could do it, if any one ; but I tell you frankly, mon- 
sieur, it is impossible. I have firmly made up my 
mind. She has written you ?” he asked, after a 
moment, looking curiously at his caller. 

Richard Winthrop bowed assent. 

Monsieur Lasee, a noble Englishman — and I 
have reason to believe him ^uch — will make a far 
worthier husband for your niece than a heartless 
millionaire of whatever nationality.” 

That may be. Monsieur Winthrop ; but as she 
has that, she must abide by the worthy husband, 
without the other adornments. If she was so will- 
ing to disregard my wishes, she must be just as 
willing to renounce my fortune. I did not make 
her my heiress that she might spend my money 
upon a penniless man — or a shiftless one. For no 
one would have left a prosperous business in the 
hands of employees to run after a woman, if there 
was not a screw loose somewhere. I tell you it is 
all nonsense. Besides — and this proves the impru- 
dence of the thing — she knew that I expressly for- 
bade her marrying him. But women are all alike. 
I might have known she would prove a traitress.” 
Monsieur Lasee spoke with polite heat. He him- 
self was a bachelor. 

^‘Yet, Monsieur Lasee, she loves this man, and 
love, you know, is obstinate. Have you taken that 
into consideration ? May I ask,” the senator con- 
tinued with sympathy, ‘‘ what sort of a man you 
wished her to marry.” 

Monsieur Las^e would certainly have taken such 


AN INTERVIEW. 301 

a question from no other man. He hesitated a 
moment before replying : 

A man with money, or position, or both. She 
has had plenty of offers of one kind or another.” 
After a short pause, he added : Monsieur Win- 

throp, there was one man who had both these ; in 
short, all the desirable qualities, and she appeared 
to prefer him ; but you see how it has turned out. 
What I cannot understand is — you will pardon me 
— how you, who were not interested before, should 
now so suddenly become so. Did you admire her 
after all ” 

To be frank, I admire her as the wife of that 
Englishman more than I ever did before,” was the 
reply. I consider it an excellent union. But I 
came to intercede for your blessing upon it, how- 
ever, because I feel in a way responsible for it.” 

‘‘You responsible for that marriage!” the 
Frenchman exclaimed, in astonishment. 

“Your niece attributes this choice to the influ- 
ence I exerted over her ; for the greatest part 
unconscious, but none the less powerful — and it 
may be so ; for it accords with my opinion. She 
did right in marrying her constant lover — the Eng- 
lishman. So I beg you will not blame your niece 
for what I am, in a measure, responsible. On this 
ground, if on no other, I hope you will reconsider 
the step you have taken, and at least give her your 
benediction.” He was rising as he spoke. 

The Frenchman rose also. “With all your 
honors and eloquence, you are a strange man. 
Pardon me I I mean it in compliment. But mark 
my words, that niece of mine has been deceiving 


302 


EUNICE. 


you. You trust her too much. I am older, and I 
know women better.” 

As he left the rich old man, Richard Winthrop 
felt that his call had not been altogether in vain ; 
because he had at least left a more thoughtful face 
than the one that had greeted him an hour before. 

He met Monsieur Lasee once after this, as he 
was passing the carriage where the old man sat 
waiting. 

‘‘You could persuade me if any one could,” 
Monsieur Lasee told him, and then smiled and 
shook his head with an experienced incredulity. 

That night Richard Winthrop went home musing : 

“ Disappointed of love — not in love. Had it 
been any one else — if it could have been any other 
— I might be the same to-day. It might have 
hardened me and made me a cynic.” As his 
thoughts ran on the pity deepened in his face, 
then changed to calm gladness ; but at last there 
was the same old stifled yearning in his heart. 

Mrs. Morange was unusually tender toward her 
brother that night, and a childish eagerness ap- 
peared in her face, as she met him on the way to 
the library. 

“ What ! no engagements this evening, Fredonia ? ” 
Richard asked, rather pleased. 

“ Why, no ; how could I go without my escort ? 
Robert is more thoughtless than ever since you 
came to live with us, and he always forgets when 
you are away or busy.” 

A troubled look came into Richard Winthrop's 
eyes ; and as Fredonia could not endure that, she 
added, gayly : 


AN INTERVIEW. 


303 


“No, no, Richard; I have not cared to go out 
lately. Some way, society has lost its charm when 
you are not there.” 

Richard leaned over and took her hand into his 
warm pressure. 

After a short silence, during which they entered 
the library, Fredonia remarked : 

“ Miss Van Amburg called to-day. She is about 
to leave for Europe ; I think she goes very sud- 
denly.” As she spoke, she watched her brother 
closely, as he crossed the room. 

He expressed some surprise, but with apparent 
indifference. 

“ Why, Richard ; I thought you might feel some 
regret over it ; she is such a brilliant woman.” 

“ Oh ! ” he returned ; “ we must not be too grasp- 
ing. Let them have a brilliant woman on the other 
side of the water once in a while. We can spare 
her, can we not ? ” 

Fredonia could not restrain the question any 
longer. “ Dear Richard, won’t you please tell me ? 
Do you ever intend to marry.?” She had come 
across the room, and now stood before him, her 
hands clasped, with an earnest look upon her face. 

He did not jest with her, but saw in a moment 
what he had never before noted. “ How blind I 
have been ! She has been worrying about that all 
this time,” he thought. 

“ No, Fredonia, I shall always stay with you.” 
Still there was a certain sadness in his eyes, al- 
though he smiled. 

Her face lighted up as if a ray of sunlight had 
burst upon her ; but she said, more soberly again ; 


304 


EUNICE. 


Richard, do you not care to marry ? 

No, sister, I have no desire in that line. I have 
fully decided.” 

Fredonia felt that she had distressed him need- 
lessly for her selfish gratification, and came nearer, 
and softly stroked his forehead. Then pressing her 
lips to his brow, she said : ‘‘ Richard, if I could only 
make up for your loss ! ” 

He pressed her hand in silent acknowledgment 
of her sympathy, but could not utter a word. Yet 
there, in the solemn twilight, their hearts were knit 
in a closer bond, and Fredonia knew that her sur- 
mises had been correct. 

After a while she whispered : 

‘‘You have become so dear to me that I could 
not bear to think of you ever leaving me. You 
have come like sunshine into my barren life. You 
have brought all the real happiness I have known.” 
She sobbed quietly. 

“Fredonia, may God be praised. If I have 
helped to make your life happier, it is worth all that 
I have missed. I see now that it is in every way 
providential.” 

“ Yes, it is indeed,” she replied, drying her tears ; 
“and Richard I am very thankful to our God.” 

The brother and sister had entered into their 
fellowship of suffering. But neither knew the 
depths of pain that lay hid in the other’s heart. 
Richard did not know what a vague emptiness had 
yawned in Fredonia’s life, through which her emo- 
tional nature had been weakened and her will ener- 
vated, until he came to fill up the void, and to teach 
her the fullness of love, which wells up in a life like 


AN INTERVIEW. 


305 


his. She, on the other hand, could not conceive of 
the devotion, which though still bowed at the feet 
of an earthly ideal, was overshadowed by the loftier 
Christ-love that yearned for fellowship with all the 
good and true, and longed to bring all others into 
that fellowship. Fredonia knew that there must be 
suffering, but did not dream of the temptations that 
sometimes beset this externally calm man, who 
seemed to her a breathing statue, sculptured by a 
master-hand. 

As she sat silently, Robert Morange entered the 
room : 

‘‘ Well, well, Winthrop ! are you coming back to 
society again soon ? The women are all pining for 
you, and will not be comforted. The fair daughters 
of Israel are going into mourning soon, if you do 
not return.” Robert Morange seemed to delight in 
the former’s look of disgust, and he proceeded with 
more animation : “ Let me see. Mademoiselle Lasee 
did not return to Washington with her uncle ? ” 

Fredonia could see that her husband was draw- 
ing pretty near the danger line ; but she could only 
remain coldly dignified. Then Mr. Morange changed 
his voice to express mock concern. 

I hope you two did not have a misunderstand- 
ing.’’ 

Richard Winthrop suddenly arose to his feet : 

Robert,” he exclaimed, with righteous indignation 
gleaming from his eyes, but in an attitude of regal 
self-command, two have a misunderstanding, 

and I demand from you an explanation ! ” 

Robert Morange was amazed, but at the same 
time filled with admiration. He had often before 
u 


3o6 


EUNICE. 


spoken tauntingly of Richard Winthrop's favor 
among the women ; but never had evoked anything 
more fiery than mild disdaim. Mr. Morange was 
no coward, but his southern impetuosity was neu- 
tralized by his northern moderation, and he simply 
stood in silent wonder. 

After a pause, which seemed an age to Fredonia, 
Robert Morange assumed an easy smile and said : 

You would do for the Black Prince now, Win- 
throp. You never looked better.” 

By this time the other’s anger had cooled, and he 
walked to the window and glanced out. 

I did not mean anything, Winthrop — except, 
as every man knows who is not as blind as a bat, 
that the French heiress was, to speak politely, im- 
pressed in your favor. 

Richard Winthrop turned toward him with a look 
of pardon and mild forbearance. 

I did not know you concealed such a fire, man. 
Come, come ! you take things so seriously. But 
you know all I live for is justice and amusement,” 
Mr. Morange said with a laugh, and added to him- 
self that Winthrop’s high notions were puerile ; but 
he did not even pretend that he himself had not the 
highest respect for his brother-in-law. And now he 
was forced to admit that he felt somewhat ill at ease, 
as if Richard Winthrop’s presence were a silent in- 
dictment upon his character. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE FINAL STRUGGLE. 


Why comes temptation but for man to meet 
And master, and make crouch beneath his foot, 
And so be pedestaled in triumph. 


— Browning, ‘ ‘ The Ring and the Book, 



EARLY two years had passed, and Richard 


i\l Winthrop sat in the drawing room of Garton 
Olway’s residence on Elmwood Street. If attention 
can make any mortal happy, he ought to have been 
superlatively happy. For opposite him sat Lena, 
engrossed with every word ; near her, reclined 
Garton, with his approving smile and frequent 
ejaculation ; on one arm of the visitor’s chair was 
perched Dora, now a mature young woman of four- 
teen, but not too shy to rest her hand on Uncle 
Richard’s shoulder and to allow his arm to encircle 
her waist as a safeguard against falling ; Hollister, 
a lad of ten years, occupied a high stool directly in 
front ; while on the lap of this very welcome guest 
was little Merwin, the baby of two happy summers. 

If Dora did not literally strew her hero’s way 
with flowers, she did what was better — gave her- 
self, a little wild-briar rose to be worn in his button- 
hole. 

Oh , Uncle Richard ! I wish you would take 
me back with you to Washington.” 

‘‘ Humph ! Dody, you would make a nice sena- 


3o8 


EUNICE. 


tor’s wife, wouldn’t you ? What would you know 
about government ? ” said Hollister. 

They all laughed, and Dora looked a little 
ashamed. 

Hollister, you know I don’t want to be a sena- 
tor’s wife; I just ” 

‘‘ No, you expected to be a president’s wife, I sup- 
pose,” said this tease of a brother. 

‘‘That is a worthy ambition, my son,” remarked 
Garton, with a paternal air, but controlling his 
amusement with difficulty. “ Dora knows how much 
good she could do in such a position, and I hope she 
may fill one as responsible some day.” 

“ Dody thinks she could rule then, papa, that’s 
what takes her, but she couldn’t a bit ; could she. 
Uncle Richard.? ” 

“ Dora can rule anywhere,” declared Uncle Rich- 
ard, as the expectant little face awaited his verdict. 
“ Dora is a little queen ; but she is going to be the 
best little queen in the world,” he added, confi- 
dently ; “ she is going to put the president and us 
senators to open shame.” 

This was a side issue in the more general con- 
versation. Lena asked about Mrs. Morange and 
Washington society, and Garton listened, interpo- 
lating a remark now and then. Finally they spoke 
of Ernest Radcliffe’s work, and Garton said : 

“You know what wonderful results they are 
having there .? How strangely it turned out about 
the woman who brought Dora home, you remem- 
ber.? To think that she was Vina’s sister. And 
what she has been, and then what she is now. 
There are strange things in this world.” 


THE FINAL STRUGGLE. 309 

Oh, papa,” corrected Dora ; ‘‘ Celia did not 
bring uie, you know ; I brought her.” 

Yes, dear; I suppose your childish love saved 
her. It would seem as though it was all provi- 
dential.” 

I have no doubt of it,” said Richard. 

^‘You remember Vina.^’” asked. Lena. ^‘You 
ought to see her now. She has turned out so dif- 
ferently from what I once expected. She is a real 
staid little housekeeper, you know. I do not mean 
that she has lost her bright, quick ways, nor her lik- 
ing for nice things entirely ; .but she has studied for 
some time, you know, and taught ; had a fine posi- 
tion in the high school, until she married a young 
Dr. Blake. You did not know him, I think ? Mother 
thought a great deal of Vina. When Eunice went 
away, it was so hard for her, you know. Yes, what 
I started to say was this ; you recollect that drama 
we impersonated here once.?” 

Yes.” 

‘‘ Well, do you believe, Vina has since told me 
that that night was the crisis of her life. You re- 
member how well she acted, and what praises we 
showered upon her .? It made her wild : she dis- 
covered she had a hidden passion for acting, and 
the thought of doing anything else in life maddened 
her. She was about determined to run away and 
go on the stage. But her mother’s death and 
Eunice’s love saved her, she said. It was touching 
to hear her say : ' I could not have been saved if I 
had gone away, because I had no excuse.’ ” 

Richard Winthrop was greatly impressed by the 
story. 


310 


EUNICE. 


‘‘We are helping to forge the chains of slavery 
when we little think it,” he said; “yet on the other 
hand we may be as unconsciously helping to loosen 
them. The great difference lies- in a motive wholly 
consecrated to the highest service for others. If 
we pour out all the best we have, as One did, our 
responsibility will be met.” 

He seemed to forget himself as he spoke, and 
had a far-away look in his eyes ; but he was soon 
recalled to the present, however, by baby Merwin, 
who had suddenly wakened from his nap and was 
tugging at his watch chain. 

Hollister, who had been moving uneasily on his 
stool, now rose and strutted across the room to the 
piano. 

“ Garton, proceed to know thyself,” said Richard 
Winthrop, with an intelligent nod at the boy. 

Garton laughed and replied : “ I am not nearly 
so important. Time wears off value even.” 

“ Why don’t somebody play ? ” asked Hollister, 
with boyish impatience. “If nobody else will, I 
will ! May I .^ ” He remembered his politeness 
just in time to save himself. 

“ Let him,” Richard Winthrop urged, and he 
began. 

But this presumption was too much for Dora’s 
composure. She slipped down suddenly from the 
chair-arm. 

Oh, Uncle Richard, let me play. Hollis can’t 
play at all, — but I can. Uncle Richard ; I have been 
practising on purpose to play for you.” 

“ You see we are all anxious to entertain royalty,’* 
said Garton, gayly. 


THE KINAE STRUGGLE. 


31I 

Hollister yielded gracefully. He only wanted to 
have something going on, and he could thrum 
quite as well on the table. 

While Dora was playing very creditably, the bell 
rang, and a moment later a neat maid entered 
bearing a telegram. 

Garton, supposing it was in regard to some busi- 
ness matter, glanced over it hastily, but turned 
pale and shut his lips with a peculiar expression 
which came to him whenever agitated. 

What is it ? ” asked Lena. 

Looking up, he said slowly : Ernest is danger- 

ously ill with typhoid fever.” 

For several seconds the silence was unbroken. 

Hollister was the first to speak : Uncle Ernest 
sick ! What will Aunt Eunice do ? ” 

That was the practical question to be considered. 

Mother must know,” said Lena, softly. 

‘‘ Yes, dear,” Garton replied, rising. ‘‘I will tell 
her now. I must go to New York immediately, so 
have my grip ready. I can take the evening train. 
If possible, I shall bring Ernest here — that city is 
no place for him.” 

Richard Winthrop had risen too — he had been 
almost forgotten — and touching Garton's arm, 
said : 

Garton, I am going with you. I know of a 
hospital near them, where Ernest can have every 
care and comfort. The walls are deadened, and he 
shall have a private room, and nurses, and the best 
physicians.” Richard had not told them that he 
had established such a hospital. 

By the expression on the speaker's face, Garton 


312 


EUNICE. 


knew he was not to be opposed. Lena tried 
remonstrance, but soon desisted. 

Richard, this is noble,” Garton said ; and it was 
all he could say just then. 

Mrs. Olway was shocked, but composed. 

I will be ready to accompany you, Garton,” she 
said. Oh, my poor darling ! Her child taken, 
and now her husband on the brink.” 

Not so bad as that, mother,” returned Garton, 
hopefully, putting his arm lovingly around her. 

No, dear, true. I am borrowing trouble.” 

But Garton himself was very apprehensive. 

‘‘ When a strong-brained man like Ernest is 
stricken down with that fever, I shudder,” he 
thought, and involuntarily suited the action to the 
word. 

So it happened that the evening train swiftly 
bore Richard Winthrop, and Garton Olway and his 
mother toward New York. 

Garton made Mrs. Olway as comfortable as her 
easy-chair would allow, and then left her, as he 
knew she preferred, to prayerful silence. He and 
Richard sat near together but spoke few words. 
Each was plunged too deeply in his own thoughts 
to notice the other very much. 

Garton was fearful for the worst ; and the picture 
of Eunice’s agony, should her husband be taken 
away, actually stifled his own personal feelings. 
And personal feelings he had, for Ernest Radcliffe 
had been a friend since college days, and was 
doubly dear as a brother. Moreover, Garton was 
troubled by the question which had come to him 
when little Olway died. 


THE FIN AT STRUGGLE. 313 

Why is it ? How can it be that God permits 
such sorrows to come upon those who are most 
consecrated — most saintly. Eunice had been a 
perfect angel — nay more. She is human, and has 
fought and conquered temptation ; but she has 
always lived for others, it seems. And Ernest too ; 
I never saw such heroic sacrifice — and in the ser- 
vice of their God. Why do these things come to 
them, and not to — well, me, for instance, who 
deserve nothing better.” 

After a while the answer foreshadowed itself. 
He had felt it, but would not entertain it hitherto : 

Whom I love, I chasten — perfect through 
suffering. Must a price be paid, when one has 
already paid the price ? Partaker of his suffering ! 
Yes ! Well — would I be ready to suffer, if need 
be, to be made perfect ? ” 

Being unable to answer the question satisfac- 
torily, he again reviewed the immediate prospect. 
Then his thoughts turned to Richard Winthrop. 

‘‘ He is being made perfect through suffering — 
and now he goes to minister to his rival’s needs, 
and with such a generous hand. It is strange ! 
These two men whom I knew so well — both so 
grand and so different withal — and the destiny of 
each so closely connected with her ! Little would 
I have thought it — but I know not which is the 
more worthy of her.” 

The imperfections of these two men were all for- 
gotten in Garton’s sympathy and love. He knew 
that they were not perfect, but were men like him- 
self ; yet he glorified them in his thoughts, and by 
so doing, though he knew it not, he glorified himself. 


314 


EUNICE. 


The thoughts'^ that surged through Richard Win- 
throp’s brain were not so easily traceable. They 
crossed and re-crossed one another, until he could 
scarcely tell whence each sprang ; and this very 
uncertainty was an added source of pain. For his 
desires seemed to rise up before him, and to rapidly 
transform themselves as they passed before his 
inward vision, without his least control. He had 
indeed one consolation — he knew that the prompt- 
ing motive of all had been pure. It had been 
untainted by any personal thought or wish. His 
friend was sick — nay, at the point of death perhaps, 
and he was eager to do his uttermost for this 
friend’s comfort and recovery. This was the first 
thought. But then he thought of the anguish of 
the wife — the woman whom he, Richard Winthrop, 
had adored, and had looked upon as one who could 
not be smitten by earthly sorrows ; for he had the 
same old feeling of his youth, that sorrow was a 
positive evil, though he now believed it was per- 
mitted by a loving Father. But that such sorrow 
should fall upon her ! She might lie wounded and 
bleeding, and he could not comfort her. 

But as he now went on thinking, new complica- 
tions arose. Ah ! an evil thought knocked for en- 
trance — a horrible, ghostly thought panting to be- 
come a desire ; but he drove it back. Then it hov- 
ered like an angel of light, radiantly beautiful — so 
tempting that he swooned in imagination, and could 
hardly restrain himself from bowing at its feet. 

Shall it be put in words ? Richard Winthrop did 
not allow it to formulate itself. He closed his eyes 
and threw himself on his face, so to speak, in prayer 


THE EINAE struggle. 


315 


and anguish of condemnation ; and there he fought 
th^e invisible Apollyon all that wearisome night, as 
they plunged along in the darkness. He wrestled, 
as did the patriarch long ago by the brookside, 
praying to be freed from this temptation or be made 
proof against its allurements, and would not let the 
angel go until he had gained the victory. And no 
doubt, from that time in heaven, he was known by 
another name — for this was the crucial hour of his 
life. 

It was nearly eight o’clock the next morning 
when three figures alighted from a carriage in front 
of a dwelling in a poor quarter of the metropolitan 
city. Eunice Radcliffe met them at the door. She 
was wan, but composed ; and Richard Winthrop 
noted a certain subdued look which was to him a 
sign of crushing grief. In fact he always seemed 
to read thoughts and feelings more clearly than 
other men. 

<^We have done all we can,” Eunice said, after 
silently embracing her mother and Garton, and giv- 
ing her hand mechanically to Richard Winthrop. 
Nothing seemed to surprise her — and for some rea- 
son she felt it to be perfectly natural that he 
should be there. All the people have been very 
kind, and Celia has done wonderfully. Oh, God 
has not entirely forsaken us ! ” With this she 
burst into tears, the first emotion she had exhibited 
since her husband’s illness. Now that she had 
given way, it had to spend itself in full force. 

Richard Winthrop silently thanked God that tears 
had come to her relief, for her first look had made 
him sick at heart. 


3i6 


EUNICE. 


They found Ernest delirious, and Richard, who 
had ordered the carriage to wait, begged Garton 
to remain while he went in search of physicians to 
make arrangements for the invalid’s removal to the 
hospital, if the doctors should advise it. Garton 
complied as Richard put the request in such a rea- 
sonable light. 

A council of the best physicians was called, and 
they advised the removal, as every convenience for 
treatment would be secured by the change, and no 
real risk need be taken with the skilled management 
to which the process of transportation was subject. 

Thus before night Ernest Radcliffe — the real 
Ernest being unconscious — lay in a luxurious bed 
in a room of equable temperature, secure from all 
disturbing noises and ministered to by the skilled 
nurses and experienced physicians. 

At first Eunice wished to sit by the bedside, 
hoping vainly by her loving touch to charm away 
the fever from her husband’s brow, until finally the 
physicians insisted upon her retiring. 

Those were terrible days ! The fever must run 
its course, and the crisis was yet to be passed. 

There are prayers which are an agony. The 
Garden ” scene in a measure is enacting every day. 
‘‘ Let this cup pass from me ! ” was Eunice Rad- 
cliffe’s faint whisper. But it was only at the last 
that she could add : Yet not my will, but thine be 
done ! ” 

When little Winthrop died, the sorrow had eaten 
into the very heart ; but then Ernest too had suf- 
^fered, and their fellowship of suffering had glorified 
the pain, and drawn them closer together until the 


THE FINAE STRUGGEE. 317 

breach was almost filled. But now — ah ! there was 
nothing but an empty anguish — an aching void 
within and around her. God himself, for the first 
time in her life, seemed to be shut away from her. 
He seemed far from her, and she could not reach 
him, and she cried out in her agony, ‘‘Why hast 
thou forsaken me ? ” And then, she knew not how 
it was, but the Comforter came, and he was in the 
form of the Crucified, and she was at peace. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


ONLY GREATER. 

The regal soul hath not her habitation 

On cloudless hills with dreamers light and vain, 

But low amid the valleys of temptation 
She kneels to soothe a fallen sister’s pain. 

— Frank Walcott Hutt, 

TT has passed. He will recover.'’ These were 

1 the balm-laden words that fell from the lips 
of the attending physician. 

They came like a reprieve at the gallows. The 
fearful tension was relaxed — and Eunice was free to 
weep for joy. Every heart praised God : and audi- 
ble accents fell from Richard Winthrop’s lips. 

^^Oh, Richard!” Eunice said (she so addressed 
him for the first time) ; how can we ever thank 
you.? Accept what we can never express,” she 
added, rising and laying her clasped hands on his 
arm. You have been a brother indeed, like Him 
who sticketh closer than a brother. He will bless 
you, and he,” she continued, glancing toward the 
sick-room, will thank you as I never can ; for he 
has been very close to the heavenly gate, and his 
words will have a sweeter benediction.” 

Richard Winthrop could not endure this strain 
of emotion, nor did he think it wise that Eunice 
should prolong it ; so he said, that as the danger 
was now over, he must return immediately to Wash- 
313 


ONI.Y GRKATKR. 


319 


ington. Then bidding them all a hasty farewell, 
amid entreaties that he would wait, and promising 
Garton to complete his visit with him in the near 
future, he departed. 

But it was some time before he took the train for 
the capital. He felt that he could not yet trust 
himself anywhere. The whole world seemed to 
him to have undergone a revolution ; nothing looked 
the same to him. He felt like an old man, whose 
years, accumulated in unconsciousness, had sud- 
denly fallen upon him with such ponderous force 
and volume as to make him stagger under the un- 
timely load. 

He wandered through the streets of the city, — 
weary, forlorn, spent with struggling, and yet bat- 
tling for a complete victory. He was amazed, nay, 
indeed horrified at the possibilities of his weakness 
in temptation. Hitherto he had felt quite secure. 
His one great disappointment had almost come to 
be his most sacred treasure, which he had enshrined 
in the innermost temple of his heart ; and at last, 
he had gotten a sort of secret pleasure from its 
presence, like enjoying the fragrance of crushed 
flowers. Resigned, as he thought, to his alloted 
fate, he felt a degree of complacency as he reflected 
upon what appeared to be his crucifixion of self. 

That the possibility would occur of his ever again 
having the opportunity to think of Eunice as free, 
he had never dreamed. His renunciation had been 
final ; he had never stopped to consider what he 
would do or hope, should such a time arise. But 
when the time did come, so unexpectedly, he was 
astonished to find how intensely he yet longed for 


320 


EUNICE. 


this one thing ; he was amazed that cruel thoughts 
could arise in his heart, and struggle to be wishes ; 
he was crushed and humbled to the dust. 

To be sure he had been conqueror all through, 
but he had to fight every inch of the ground ; and 
even now he felt that the enemy was lurking near. 
Out in the busy throng that jostled itself on Broad- 
way, Richard Winthrop crossed his Delaware, and 
had his Valley Forge; but for him a Trenton fol- 
lowed, and he bravely pressed the lingering warfare 
on to the victorious end. 

As he took the train for Washington, there was 
a deep calm in his eyes, and a peaceful joy in his 
heart, the equal of which he had never before expe- 
rienced. Now he could truly and meekly say : 

‘‘ ‘ I am crucified with Christ ; nevertheless I live ; 
yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.’ ” 

Why, Richard, how happy you look,” exclaimed 
Fredonia, as he walked into the library at Washing- 
ton, the next day ; has anything happened ? ” 

‘‘Yes, sister; a great deal has happened. A 
friend of mine who has been at death’s door, will 
recover now. Should I not be rejoiced ? ” 

“ Yes, of course,” replied Fredonia ; “ but you do it 
in such a rapt, exalted sort of way. I thought 
you had just descended from the seventh heaven 
when you came in. But who is it ” Fredonia 
sometimes spoke lightly in this way, but always 
checked herself when she saw, as she did now, that 
it pained her brother. 

“ Ernest Radcliffe,” Richard answered, with such 
tender gladness in his face that Fredonia hardly 


ONI.Y GREATER. 321 

knew which surprised her the more : the startling 
news, or her brother’s behavior. 

She simply gazed at him in silence ; and he, 
knowing all that was passing in her mind, of sym- 
pathy and wonder, came nearer, and sat by her side. 
But his face was radiant. 

Rejoice with me, my sister ; for there is a great 
cause for joy. The love of Christ is passing won- 
derful. Oh, I have but tasted it, sister ! Come 
drink of it with me, and all our selfish love with its 
troubles and joys even will be as nothing when 
weighed in the balance with his wonderful love ! ” 

She leaned her head upon his shoulder, and wept 
in silence. After a long time of speechless com- 
munion, Richard said, with a tone of affection, half 
brother’s, half lover’s : ‘‘ I thank God we can be so 
much to each other.” 

Ernest,” said Eunice Radcliffe, one day when 
he had become thoroughly convalescent, and was 
lying back in the reclining-chair, while his wife sat 
by his side and stroked his shapely hand, now so 
white and thin : isn’t it wonderful how much we 
owe to Richard ? ” 

He already knew how Richard Winthrop’s 
thoughtfulness had provided for his comfort, and 
he felt that, as indeed the physicians said, he owed 
his life to the care and quiet which the hospital had 
afforded. His face lighted up and a new animation 
came into his voice as he replied : 

I can never thank him for what he has done for 
us from the very beginning ; but then, thanks are 
superfluous, Eunice. We must show him how 
V 


322 


EUNICE. 


much we love him, in all the tenderest, most deli- 
cate ways we know of, — and what could I say 
more ? '' Then, after a short pause : Richard is 
the most Christ-like soul I know. His conse- 
cration is most like a woman’s consecration of 
any I have ever seen from a man.” 

Since the restoration of her husband Eunice 
Radcliffe had time for deep and serious reflection. 
The joy did not surge back into her heart for 
naught. The relief from her awful agony only 
made more clear to her mind the anguish of re- 
nunciation ; and, as she dwelt upon her past life, 
and its connection with those she loved, the thought 
of Richard Winthrop instinctively' clung to her 
and would not depart. ‘‘ Can it be possible } ” 
she asked herself over and over again, as the truth 
dawned upon her. ‘‘ Can it be possible that Richard 
did care for me at one time ” The thought si- 
lenced her, as little things were recalled one by one 
to confirm her suspicion. She remembered the 
time he had called upon her and how strangely it 
had ended : her conflicting feelings of regret and 
hope along with the conviction that she had followed 
the Divine leading. 

Has he suffered like that ? ” she murmured, as 
her own sorrow rose before her. Then she caught 
a glimpse of how he must have struggled, if he 
loved her still. She could not — would not endure 
the thought. 

O God ! O Christ ! If this be true — sustain 
and comfort him, and give him better, higher joy 
than any earth can afford. Oh ! Why must I be 
the cause of sorrow ? ” 


ONIvY GREATER. 


323 


After this a voice within her seemed to say : 

^'The sorrow shall be turned into joy. It is the 
sorrow that is leading him to the joy.” And this 
thought intuitively connected itself with the time 
when they had spoken so intimately with each 
other. 

Oh, I have been so blind all along. Yet would 
I wish it otherwise ? O God ! I thank thee for 
all — though I deserve nothing.” 

She buried her face in her hands, only saying at 
last : 

^ He worketh in us to will and to do of his own 
good pleasure. It is all right. It could never have 
been — but God knows I feel unworthy of my happi- 
ness.” 

As the truth grew clearer day by day, Eunice 
prayed : 

‘‘ Show me what I can do now. Let me be the 
medium of a great blessing to him. Help us im- 
part our happiness — not keeping it selfishly to our- 
selves. Thou, O God, art purifying our love through 
suffering that it may merge into the love of Christ 
for all.” 

Then there came to her mind Lowell’s beautiful 
sonnet, beginning : 

I would not have this perfect love of ours 
Grow from a single root, a single stem. 

And more fully than ever she entered into the 
thought of the lines : 

That love for One from which there doth not spring 

Wide love for all — is hut a worthless thing. 

Eunice Radcliffe had always loved these sonnets 


3^4 


EUNICE). 


of Lowell’s ; indeed some of them had become a very 
part of herself. But she now felt, in the light of the 
past and with the outlook into the future, that the 
love of Christ in man is- the one great force by 
which he can elevate his fellow-men ; that all else 
is but a scintillating fragment of the white light of 
universal love. 

Thus, as they sat together, Ernest and Eunice 
would often plan how they might best show their 
gratitude and love. 

After a time, Ernest’s strength came back again, 
in fuller measure than ever. His energy seemed 
to have been quadrupled during his enforced quiet, 
but the load was gone from his heart. 

It taught me that the Lord had no special need 
of me. I see now that it was wrong to worry, and 
think that the whole world was upon my shoul- 
ders, as I sometimes did, you know, dear,” Ernest 
said on one occasion to Eunice. Right at the 
time when it seemed so necessary that I should be 
everywhere, he laid me aside for a while to learn 
that his power and resources were endless — inex- 
haustible. I shall never unduly worry again ; for 
it is all in his hands. It is as though he let us play at 
work for our own good ; and when we can do no 
more, he turns our failures into glorious achieve- 
ments by a touch of his own finger.” 

Meanwhile Celia Parkes had passed from a sense 
of her uselessness in the world to a realization that 
God could use even the ‘‘broken vessel” for his 
honor and glory. For she had been the mainstay 
of the mission during the trying days of Ernest 
Radcliffe’s illness. 


ONI.Y GREATER. 


325 


The horror, which once hung suspended above 
her head, as it were like Damocles' sword, now was 
onlya phantom, for her enemy had been brought 
to justice, and escaped death only by commutation 
of his sentence. Yet often as she awoke at night 
she would hear his threat ringing in her ears : 
will scale the walls yet ! " 

But she still prayed and hoped for him — though 
she never visited his cell, — and there was no second 
request for her. 

There finally came a time when the Radcliffes 
felt that they might show their love to Richard, in 
a peculiar way. A second son was born to them — 
and they called him Richard Winthrop. They also 
made sacred the name of little 01 way by adopting 
a native child of India, and taking upon themselves 
his entire support. He was given the name of Ol- 
way Radcliffe, and was educated in America, for a 
missionary to his own country. 

Indeed since Ernest Radcliffe’s recovery, their 
interest in all, and especially foreign mission work, 
had increased ; they were never called to go to the 
foreign field ; but they interested others therein, and 
sought to multiply centers of influence. 

‘‘The cities of America must first be taken," 
was Ernest Radcliffe' s constant battle-cry. 

The delicate honor shown to Richard Winthrop 
on the part of his sister, in the naming of her son, 
touched Garton with a feeling of peculiar pleasure. 
As soon as he appreciated the fact, he went to his 
mother’s room, to pour out his convictions. 

“ Mother, do you realize that Richard Winthrop 
is the ideal Christian hero. 


336 


EUNICE. 


Mrs. Olway looked at him with some surprise. 

Did you say Richard, Garton ? I should hardly 
think you could put any one there but Ernest.” 

‘‘ Ah, but, mother, you do not know all, and now 
I can no longer keep it to myself. Eunice did 
right in naming their son for Richard, for Richard 
has loved her all these years, and you know he has 
never married. But the disappointment has made 
a hero of him. Know this, mother, that he would 
suffer more to the extent that he is more tender and 
sensitive than other men. Lena thought it would 
kill him ; but I never saw such self-mastery.” 

This was presenting Richard Winthrop in an en- 
tirely new light to Mrs. Olway. She had admired 
him as an incorruptible public man, and had been 
surprised and gratified to learn of his generosity 
toward benevolence, and his interest in Ernest’s 
work ; but she had never seen the real man. She 
only said in reply to Garton : 

Why, Garton, are you sure ? Is it really true .^” 

Mrs. Olway was the kind of a woman to appre- 
ciate such a situation. 

‘‘Yes; I am perfectly sure — since Ernest’s sick- 
ness.” 

“Well, Garton,” his mother said, after a while, 
“if Eunice had not been just what she was, the re- 
sult might have been very different. The fate of 
others was connected with her own, although she 
did not know it ; but she gave her best to others, 
and by so doing, averted evil that we cannot esti- 
mate. She will some time know what that simple 
fidelity to duty has wrought of good, and prevented 
of evil. It ought to be a good lesson to us, Garton, 


ONI.Y GREATER. 


3^7 


for if any one had asked me what would have been 
the effect of such a disappointment upon your 
friend, I should have said atheism, worldiness, and 
recklessness.” 

‘‘Yes, mother; but you would have been wrong; 
Richard had the true metal in him.” 

“True, my son; but it needed the magnet to 
separate it from the rubbish.” And the words 
greatly impressed him. 

“ If that is so, our responsibility is a terrible 
reality,” he thought ; and then his sister’s life came 
before him, and with that the story of Celia and 
Vina Parkes. “ Eunice, I know, received the idea 
that she was responsible for Vina, and Vina says 
Eunice saved her from a wrong path ; but she does 
not know ; however, Celia,” — and then the latter’s 
own words rang in his ears : “ If others knew their 
duty as these do, what horrors of sin would be pre- 
vented” — “well, I do not know; but I shall keep 
my eyes open hereafter. There are too many al- 
ready who have eyes and see not.” His own eyes 
moistened with tears, as he thought : “ Perhaps it 
is the influence of mother’s life working upon me 
now.” He was lost in the mystery and solemnity 
of the thought. 

After he had poured out his heart to Lena, she 
too was speechless and serious. 

“ It makes my life seem light and frivolous,” she 
said, as she drew close to him. “ Do you know. 
Carton, I have cared less for society in the way I 
used to ever since Richard has been so different ? 
He seemed to change the whole face of society for 
me, anyway.” 


328 


EUNICE. 


He gets at the core of it, dearie ; he pierces 
through the shell, and lives in society on the inside, 
so to speak. But I never supposed there was any- 
thing but shell myself. Live and learn, wifie. You 
and I can take a course of study even under our 
little doubles. Where are they ? Is Merwin 
asleep ? ’’ 

‘‘Yes ; but when did you say Richard is coming 
again ? ” 

“ Oh, before long, he promised. But a senator's 
time belongs to his country, you know." 

The fact of Ernest Radcliffe’s illness did not ap- 
pear to James and Vina in quite the same light as 
to others. As soon as the news reached them. Dr. 
Blake said : 

“Just as I feared," and he was more than once 
on the point of going to New York ; but Vina read 
Celia’s letters to him, and showed him that Dr. 
James Blake was not needed there in a professional 
way, though he was greatly needed in every way in 
Milston. 

Yet these were sad days to both, until the crisis 
was past. On the night of the good news, the 
Blakes made a celebration. The neighbors and 
especial friends of the Radcliffes were invited in 
and a general “ thanksgiving " ensued. Vina read 
an original poem, setting forth the biography of 
their former pastor in such a way as to bring tears 
of sympathy and gladness to the eyes of many. 
Baby Euna honored the occasion by her name and 
pretty prattling. 

“ It is wonderful what an effect those two have 
had on us all at Milston," Mrs. Blake said after- 


ONLY GREATER. 


329 


ward, when commenting upon the evening's signifi- 
cance. Mr. Radcliffe’s death would have been 
mourned by all who knew him as if it had been in 
their own family.” 

In congratulation upon Ernest Radcliffe’s recov- 
ery, the Milston folks ” sent a letter with a sum 
of money for the* carrying on of the work in New 
York. Though the gift was not large, it was 
prompted by such heartfelt love and sympathy that 
Ernest said to Eunice : 

I feel like saying — they have given more than 
all ! ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


AUF WIEDERSEHEN. 

Great souls are portions of eternity. 

— Lowell, 

help us! Can it be.?'’ asked Richard 

VJ Winthrop, as he hurried out of the senate 
chamber to the carriage, which had been sent to 
take him home. 

The coachman drove as rapidly as possible down 
the broad, smooth street that led to Morange Hall. 

A soft, spring-like breeze was blowing, and the 
sky was tender and peaceful. Yet now, the very 
quietness of nature seemed to Richard Winthrop 
like the harbinger of death. 

As he hurried into the hall, Fredonia met him 
and went into his open arms, weeping and clinging 
to him. He said to a man who stood near by : 

Is all over .? ” 

‘‘ Yes, sir ; master is dead,” the servant answered, 
as a quiver of grief passed over his face. He had 
been a slave in the family from his birth, and was 
deeply attached to his master, so much so that he 
would not leave when he became free. 

And now all the servants went about sorrowfully, 
for Robert Morange had always been kind and gen- 
erous to them, and they felt that a terrible cloud 
was resting upon the household. Such devotion 
330 


AUF WIEDERSEHKN. 33I 

among servants is rare in the North, and is pathetic 
in the extreme to one who appreciates the Negro’s 
nature. 

Now that her husband was dead, Fredonia was 
well-nigh inconsolable. Her brother’s heart sank 
as he beheld her grief. He began to be alarmed 
for her health ; and indeed, the result was that she 
was prostrated for several weeks after the shock. 

Robert Morange died from a stroke of apoplexy ; 
the great change had come so suddenly, without an 
opportunity for a parting word or caress, that it in- 
creased the anguish of the wife. 

Whatever the life of the departed has been, death 
always brings regret to the living. All the little 
virtues are magnified by the thought that one has 
gone out into the mystery of the beyond ; and the 
faults, which seemed so glaring before, are hardly 
thought of, or at most, are kindly overlooked. 

‘‘ Oh, that I had been more loving and tender, 
and less critical ! ” thought Fredonia, in the anguish 
of her sorrow. 

She did not then stop to consider how often she 
had tried to show a wifely devotion, and had turned 
away discouraged at finding no response. No ; she 
rather dwelt on the last few weeks when, she now 
fancied, a change had come over her husband, 
scarcely noticed at the time, but a gentleness of 
manner and more consideration for her brother. 
These things Fredonia saw now, and felt that she 
had not responded to them as she might have done. 

A few weeks after the funeral, with all its external 
pomp and show of mourning, which was befitting 


332 


EUNICE. 


the death of a wealthy judge, Richard and Fredonia 
again sat in their library, in their favorite corner 
near the open fireplace, and in front of the large 
bay window overlooking the park. Fredonia was 
dressed in deep mourning and the crepe at her 
neck served to give an unusual paleness to her 
complexion. Surely the woman who occupied the 
crimson-velvet chair to-day was a very different 
person from the one who had so often sat there 
before, bending over her delicate embroidery or 
some new work of literature. It was as if a beau- 
tiful mind had suddenly blossomed into a beautiful 
soul. 

‘‘ Sister mine,” said Richard, after they had mused 
for some time in silence ; I have a plan which I 
think will be just the thing for both of us.” 

‘‘ Have you, Richard ? What is it ? ” There 
was very little animation, but none of the old list- 
lessness. 

I shall not be re-elected senator — but I have 
been privately offered the position of foreign min- 
ister. What do you say to our accepting it, as it 
would take us abroad for a time among new scenes 
and people ? We could travel too, if you like. It 
seems to me to be an excellent idea.” He awaited 
her reply with a good deal of interest. 

The thought brought a flush of pleasure to her 
cheek. She had been abroad only once, and that 
was before her marriage. Her husband had never 
cared to travel, offering as an excuse that there 
were too many inconveniences about it. 

‘‘You approve, I see,” continued Richard, joy- 
ously. “ If you would prefer our going as private 


AUF WIKDKRSFHFN. 333 

individuals, not as a nation’s representative, I will 
decline the proffer.” 

'' No, no, Richard ! On the whole I like the other 
better. Besides you never would be content not to 
be doing something for your country, and you will 
make a splendid representative.” Fredonia had not 
appeared so natural since her bereavement. ‘‘To 
what country are you to be sent ? ” 

“To France — La belle France — Paris. I have 
one more surprise for you, Fredonia. Monsieur 
Lasee did not disinherit his niece after all; but re- 
pented at last, and she has written to me that she 
wishes me to use quite a large sum of money which 
she has designated for that purpose as I think best 
for benevolences in America. What do you think 
of that.?” 

“ Why, Richard, will the heavens fall .? And it 
was all your doing too ! ” 

“No, not quite. I simply set him thinking. I 
am glad he repented, for his distrust of women was 
pitiable.” 

“ Do you wonder that he distrusted them .? ” asked 
Fredonia, very much after her old manner. Pre- 
sently she asked : “ Where is she now .? ” 

“In London. Her husband added a postscript 
to her letter. A man wrote a postscript for once, 
PTedonia! ” 

“Yes; no doubt to prevent his wife from doing 
it,” she retorted. 

Just then a maid brought in letters. There was 
one from Garton Olway begging for a visit. Among 
other things it said : 

“ Do not disappoint us ; but come prepared for a 


334 


EUNICE. 


long stay. Escape the lassitude of the southern 
springtime, and sojourn for a while in the home of 
your youth.” 

‘‘Could you go?” asked Fredonia. “I should 
really enjoy going there again.” 

“Certainly,” Richard replied. “We can take a 
roundabout route to the steamer, and make them go 
down and see us off — unless they can be persuaded 
to cross the ocean with us.” 

So they accepted the invitation, and remained 
several weeks ; and Fredonia's spirits revived under 
the early memories and genial friends. They used 
to take long drives out of the city, and once went 
as far as Milston and delighted the Blakes with a 
friendly call, to the envy of their neighbors. 

Such an event was a worthy subject of conversa- 
tion, and Mrs. Doty freely expressed her views. 

“ I declare, Vinie Parkes fell into very good hands. 
Who would ever have thought, when she lived here, 
that she would be having a senator calling on her, 
with his beautiful sister — and the Olways too.” 

Harriet Blake had never felt so well satisfied with 
her son’s marriage as on the day of this senatorial 
visit. Little Euna, of course, immediately fancied 
Mr. Winthrop, and the admiration proved to be 
mutual. The name of “ Euna ” was very suggestive 
to him, and led him out into a series of speculations 
as to how much this “ bud of promise ” was indebted 
to its namesake for its prospects in life. He deter- 
mined never to forget the child whose name had 
such a charm for him ; nor did he ever as suc- 
cessive birthdays and holidays proved. 

But during the pleasant days together, it was 


AOT WIKDERSEHKN. 335 

impossible to persuade Carton to go abroad, though 
he gladly consented to go to New York. 

We will all see you sail, my friends, though 
with tears in our eyes ; for, while we rejoice in the 
manner of your going, we shall deeply regret the 
fact of your absence.’' 

Dora was quite inconsolable over the prospect, 
and pleaded to be allowed to go to Paris too ” ; but 
Plollister took the charm away from such a plan by 
remarking : 

‘‘Theodora Olway, you couldn’t talk a word of 
French ! Wouldn’t you have fun, having to pull 
Uncle Richard’s sleeve whenever anybody asked 
you a question ; or else get a scorpion when you 
asked for an egg. Girls haven’t any more sense 
than ” 

As he was at a loss for a comparison, his Uncle 
Richard suggested “ boys ” as a possible substitute 
for the unthinkable. 

Thus with pleasantry and sadness intermingled, 
as they usually are in the texture of this ordinary 
life, they all went to New York, intending to spend 
a day at the Radcliffes’, and all go from there to the 
wharf. 

It would be impossible to put into words the 
experience of that farewell reunion. The home 
scene itself was simple enough ; the plain, cheery 
rooms furnishing the background for the dear fa- 
miliar forms ; the group of faces, sweet or manly ; 
the bright eyes and voices of the children ; the 
kind words, and wishes half-expressed ; the verses of 
Scripture, speaking through Ernest Radcliffe’s mag- 
netic tones, and the prayer and the song ; all these 


336 


EUNICE. 


were common sights and sounds, but on this one 
day they stood forth transfigured, as seen through 
the mystery of inward light that sat on each like a 
halo. So, at least, thought Richard Winthrop. 

The steamer was to sail early the following morn- 
ing, and the passengers went aboard the afternoon 
or evening before. Our group of friends wandered 
over the spacious decks, and looked with interest at 
the many conveniences for the comfort of the trav- 
elers. It was hard to bring themselves to deter- 
mine to say the good-bye words ; but at last, as the 
shadows began to lengthen over the bay . and the 
sunlight kissed the roofs of the stately buildings 
good-night, they gathered near the bow of the 
great ocean ^‘greyhound,” farthest from the noise 
of the city, while with hearts made very tender at 
the prospect of parting — no one knew for how long, 
they sang softly and sweetly : 

God be with you till we meet again, 

Keep love’s banner floating o’er you ; 

Smite death’ s threat’ ning wave before you ; 

God be with you till we meet again. 


THE END. 





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